The Lost Angel: Part 3
by Kathoran
Summary: After almost a century, Katherine Barnes has finally found her happy ending. She and James are safe, hidden away from the rest of the world. However, outside the walls of their home, the world is changing. Hydra may be gone, but a new enemy is approaching, one that will change their lives forever—and Katie will to fight to the death to keep her family safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 3**

A gentle pressure on my lips pulled me from the depths of sleep, and a moment later, a voice belonging to the same man those lips did spoke up.

"Good morning, Darlin'."

My eyes fluttered open as I woke up, taking a deeper breath and relaxing as I did so. I blushed, smiling happily when I saw James's face resting only a few inches from my own. How often I had dreamed of this: waking up with James beside me. Now that it was real, I felt like the happiest person in the world.

"Hi," I breathed, humming in appreciation when my husband kissed me again, grinning cheekily. As he pulled gently away, I pressed another peck against his lips, making him chuckle. His teeth flashed white as a beam of clear sunlight cut across his face from where the curtains didn't close all the way.

 _My husband._ How long had I been waiting to call him that? And now he was here, and he was _mine_ , and I was _his,_ and it was wonderful. My heart swelled when I thought about the last couple months. I had found him, surprising him here, and we had gotten married within the week. The past few weeks had been adjusting to married life, something my husband and I both were doing quite nicely.

We had been married more than a month now, and I didn't know that I'd ever get used to waking up to James lying beside me. Sometimes he would still be asleep when I woke up, and I loved being able to watch him sleep. He was always relaxed when he slept: the lines of worry that had formed on his face were wiped away. His dark hair, longer than what I remembered but still handsome all the same, fell in thick chocolate strands over his forehead, often covering his eyebrows. His lips parted when he slept, giving him a look of childlike innocence so often missing from his face when he was awake. His breathing was deep and even, and his bare chest would rise and fall rhythmically. I often slept with my head on his arm, curled up to his side with my hand resting on his chest, and so I would wake up to the feel of his heart beating steadily beneath his skin. His arm usually was tucked around me, holding me close to his side, and I would know when he woke up because his thumb would start tracing little patterns against my bare skin.

On the days when he woke up before me, he would to the same, watching me and guarding me from whatever he suspected might be lurking outside our little apartment. Some days, the sunlight would wake me up, filtering through the curtains and shining in my eyes or warming my skin. Other days, when it was cloudy or when James managed to close the curtains all the way, he would wake me up himself. He would brush my hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, and then, when he couldn't wait any longer for me to wake up, would slowly and gently kiss me awake himself. That was my favorite way to wake up—and he knew it, too.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, pushing himself up with his metal arm to prop himself above me, tracing patterns over my skin with his flesh-and-blood hand. I caught his hand and held it, playing with his fingers instead, but didn't answer. The dream that my husband had chased away a few minutes before had returned, and I felt my palms grow sweaty.

His brow furrowed, and his fingers tightened minutely around mine, gently forcing me to stop and look at him. "Darlin', what happened?"

My answer was barely audible, but he heard it anyway. I saw his face fall, saw his lips part and then come back together again. I dropped my gaze, swallowing hard. "I dreamed that Hydra found us," I whispered, staring at his fingers, unable to look him in the eye. I started playing with them again, curling my fingers around them. He let me, and I could feel his intense gaze focused on my face, on my expressions. "They hurt you to get to me." I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, growing still. My feet rubbed against each other, and I felt the side urge to run. Maybe we could go running today, help me get my mind off of things. I tried to think of something, anything, to block out the screams that echoed in my mind as I spoke. "They…" I couldn't say it. I could _see_ it, hear it—them torturing him in front of me, me being unable to do anything to stop it. "I watched you die right in front of me."

My husband nodded. "I've had those before," he murmured. "But mine are about losing you." I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to what he said, if he was hiding something from me, and I wondered whether he remembered all the times Hydra would pit the Winter Soldier against me, whether he would have nightmares about hurting me. I wouldn't be able to comfort him then, not in the way he comforted me, because for me, the nightmares were just that. Nightmares. Except for the ones that involved him falling from the train—those were few and far between, now—most of mine were horrors that my mind made up to taunt me. Some of his dreams were _memories_ , thought I wasn't sure if he knew that. When he dreamed of seeing me hurt, it was likely that he was recalling a time when he _had_ seen me hurt. It wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him.

"I couldn't stop it," I murmured, blinking rapidly as my eyes began to sting. James curled his arm beneath my back and shoulders and pulled me up flush against him, hugging me close to his chest as he shifted, sitting up. Sometimes I was amazed with how strong he was, how effortless it was for him to pick me up in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as I fought back tears. He rubbed my back, and his cheek rested against the top of my head.

"That's not going to happen," he murmured. His lips brushed against my skin, sending shivers up my spine.

"But what if it does?" I whispered, lifting my head up and gazing into his eyes, searching them for something, asking him to convince me that I was safe, that nothing would ever happen, that if anything did, it would be okay, because he'd fix it.

He played with the edge of the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, his brow furrowed slightly, and then he looked back up into my eyes, catching my smaller hand with his larger one. "Nothing is going to separate us again," he swore, resting his forehead against mine, and in that moment I couldn't help but believe him. "I promise." He leaned back slightly, his full lips pulling away to reveal his teeth in a beautiful smile. "I love you."

"I love you too." I leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss, and he made a sound of appreciation as he lowered me back down to the bed.

~8~

I held onto James's hand as we strode through the marketplace later that day. I still had considerable funds left over from Howard—money, to an extent, was untraceable, and therefore preferable to a credit card when on the run—and had turned it into cash to help James and I survive and thrive in our new life together. Currently we were out shopping for food: although I had a feeling our habits might change, for now we would go every few days to the market to buy fresh produce. We'd buy plums at least once a week: James and I both were still working on recovering the rest of our memories.

It was later in the afternoon, sometime around three or so when James stopped suddenly. I paused as well, looking around. The sky was a brilliant blue, one of the first times in a week that the sun had burned the clouds away. The sun shone down on my shoulders, warming my whole body, and I took a deep breath before turning my attention to the rather startling attraction beside me.

We were standing in front of a large fountain. Although it hadn't been running the first few weeks I had been there, it was on now, and water danced and played as it fell tinkling down from the different tiers and into the largest pool. The oddest—and frankly, frightening—thing about the water, though, is that it was died red, the color of blood. I stepped away, wary, and James glanced down at it as well, frowning. The sound of the water helped to hide our words as well, which is likely why James picked such a place to stop.

"What do you want?" James asked suddenly.

I looked around at him, confused, and tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

Normally when we were out in public, we spoke Russian, since both of us knew and spoke it fluently. Now, however, we spoke English, knowing that fewer people would listen in and understand what we were saying. As we spoke, people curved around us, leaving us with a small bubble of space on the edge of the sidewalk with the blood fountain providing a barrier to prevent people from coming too close.

"For this." He gestured to me and then to himself, and his gaze drifted to the different rooftops around us before returning to meet mine. "For us. Our life together."

I blinked, growing steadily more confused, and my eyebrows scrunched together. I tightened my grip on his hand and held it to my chest, unconsciously rubbing the wedding band that wrapped around his finger. I felt my wedding band clink against his, and I smiled softly.

James and I had exchanged rings at our small wedding, and he had given me one that he told me he had picked out in the 40s. He had found it, somehow, in an antique shop in America and had purchased it, waiting for our marriage. It was beautiful—silver, with four small diamonds lined up and set in a way reminding me of a princess's crown. It had joined my engagement ring on my left hand, and Steve's ring now resided on a chain around my neck.

"I don't want anything but you," I told him honestly, smiling as he squeezed my hand in return. I assumed he was talking about a home, where we lived, what we would do for the rest of our lives, but… a horrible feeling was sneaking up in my stomach, and I thought I might be sick. My toes curled up inside my boots, and I took a deep breath. If he was talking about a baby…

His expression turned to desperate longing, and his eyes widened as his voice took on a pleading note. "Not even to build a family?" he asked, and my heart skipped a beat as my breathing hitched. He said it so innocently, so completely unaware of what has happened to me, that I felt a pain in my chest as my heart broke. I froze, and my panic must have shown on my face, because James stiffened, looking around wildly for a threat. My breathing grew shallow, and I tightened my grip on my husband's hand.

James's gaze returned to mine. "What's wrong?" he bent closer and rested a hand on my hip, drawing me nearer to him to protect me better. He looked around, still scanning the rooftops and windows, and I could feel his heart through his jacket—he was afraid. "Katie?"

"I can't breathe—I need to get home," I managed to wheeze, starting to shake. He nodded, really worried now, and began steering me off the streets and towards our apartment. It was slow going—we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves, and we were moving against the rush of people. At first I resented the crowds that hid us—I wanted to get home as soon as possible. A few moments later, I welcomed them, and I hoped they would continue to gather. I didn't want to break James's heart with what I was about to tell him.

Finally the building was in sight, and I heard James breathe a sigh of relief. Going up the stairs was difficult—I hadn't been lying when I told him that I couldn't breathe—I was hyperventilating. I managed to hold myself together until we got inside our apartment. I entered the apartment first, and James closed the door as I sank onto the bed and wrapped my arms around my waist, pressing one hand to my throat. I thought I might be sick.

James knelt down between my knees and rested his elbows on my thighs, holding onto my shoulder with one hand while touching my cheek with the other. I leaned into his touch, intertwining my fingers with his, using him as a lifeline to keep from flying apart.

"Katie," he breathed. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Breathe. Just breathe."

It was close to twenty minutes before I had caught my breath again, but by then my heart was pounding so hard against my ribs that I was shaking from the force of it. James was clearly concerned, and I could feel his panic in the way his hands trembled, see it in the way his eyes cut back and forth, unsure of what to do. After all, it wasn't as if we could call an ambulance. We were on our own.

My husband was a very smart man. He had put the pieces together, he knew that I had been fine until he had brought up the idea of a family, but he hadn't quite figured out why I had flown to pieces. I think he was in denial, afraid to consider what might have happened to me.

"You can tell me anything. What's wrong?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, I think he suspected. But I still didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to see his face crumple, see his eyes widen with shock and then hurt when he realized what I'd hidden from him. I didn't want to hurt him, I didn't want to break his heart. I'd planned on telling him earlier, but because of how quickly our marriage had taken place, I hadn't had the chance. I hadn't even thought about it until now, when he'd brought it up…

I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Hydra did something to me," I choked out, feeling my eyes fill with tears. His face turned blurry, then clear again as I blinked, and a tear fell onto my cheek. James wiped it away, and I saw his expression harden before his face blurred again. "They—" I took a shallow breath, unable to get enough air. It was like a tight band was wrapped around my chest, restricting my breathing and tightening around my lungs. I gripped James's hand tightly.

"Just breathe, Sweetheart," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.

"They sterilized me," I blurted, my face crumpling. I shrank back, curling into myself, afraid to see the effect my words had on my husband. James's eyes widened, and his lips parted, and I broke down, sobbing. "I c-can't have children. I'm sorry. I'm s-so s-s-sorry—"

I felt James's arms wrap around me, picking me up and pulling me to his chest. I wrapped my fingers into the material of his shirt and jacket. I felt him sit back down on the bed as he held me in his lap, rocking me back and forth. One arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding onto my right one and curling it towards him, and the other curved across my front, his hand resting on my hip. I felt his chest tense, and I felt his tears hit the top of my head as he cried with me, and I didn't stop weeping for what felt like hours.

I kept apologizing until finally James cut me off, brushing wet pieces of hair free from my skin. "No," he shook his head. "Stop it. You are _not_ to blame, do you hear me? It wasn't your fault."

"I should have told you," I whispered, tightening my grip on his shirt. "I—"

"I forgive you," he whispered, brushing his thumb beneath my eye and wiping away the tears there. "And I understand why you didn't. But you don't need to apologize."

I was sitting in stunned silence, staring at my husband in shock.

 _I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you._

"B-but I hurt you," I whispered, blinking. I felt my face crumple again, and I took a deep breath, fighting for air. "I—how could you not _hate_ me, I—"

"And I still forgive you. You are my _wife_ ," he pressed, cupping my cheek with his hand. "And I _love_ _you_. There is _nothing_ you could _ever_ do that would make me hate you." He brought my hand down to rest against his chest, and he leaned back so that his back rested against the mattress and I was curled up against him.

The golden light of the sunset bled through the windows, making our small apartment seem like the most beautiful, peaceful place in the world. James started to sing softly, and his rough voice lulled me to sleep, drawing up memories of home, of him, of a time when I was safe and the future was bright and all seemed right in the world.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like that future was possible again.


	2. Chapter 2

"James?" I sat bolt upright in bed, looking around frantically for my husband. He wasn't here. His side of the bed was empty.

It had been almost a month since he had found out what Hydra had done to me. In that time, he had rarely let me out of his sight, doing everything in his power to make me happy—he seemed to have forgotten that all I needed to be happy was _him_ —but at the same time becoming oddly distant. I would find him staring out the window or down the street with the strangest look on his face whenever he thought I wasn't looking, and then he would snap out of it whenever I asked him what was wrong.

Obviously something had been wrong. And now he was gone.

My trembling fingers clutched at the sheets, and I took deep breaths to try and calm down. Years of training bled through my panic, and I shook my head, focusing. _Think. What do you see?_

 _There was no sigh of a struggle._ I got out of bed and checked all the windows and the door. All of them were locked, and nothing was broken except a few pieces of glass that looked like they had come from a mason jar and had been there since I appeared at James's apartment a few months before. I cleaned them up and spotted something on my way to the trashcan. A piece of paper was taped to the fridge, and I tripped over the couch in my haste to retrieve it.

The paper was torn by the time I finally read it, and my brow furrowed in confusion and worry and disbelief as I read it by the light of the moon that shone through the window.

 **There's something I have to do, Katie. Stay safe. I'll be back in a few days. I love you. James.**

I let out the breath I'd been holding and sank back against the counter, running a hand through my hair. There was something he had to do? What did that even mean? The thought of what he could be doing, what could happen to him, made me sick.

I pressed my my wedding ring and engagement ring against my lips, feeling bile rise in my throat. I rushed to the sink and gathered my hair back as I gagged, vomiting into the sink. I gasped for breath, shaking and fighting back tears as I stared blankly at the mess, then washed it away. I rinsed out my mouth, coughing at the burning feeling at the back of my throat.

I sank down the cabinets to the floor, shaking, and pulled the nearest blanket to me and wrapped it around my front. My body wouldn't stop shivering, and I resting my head back against the wood as I stared into the darkness. All I could see was my husband, dead. My husband, tortured. My husband, hurt—

"Please come back to me," I whispered, feeling hot tears force their way from my eyes and down my cheeks. _I can't lose you again._ "Please."

~8~

James stood outside a rundown hotel, staring irritably at the lamppost across the street. He had travelled more than four hundred miles in the last twenty-four hours, running and walking to reach Budapest, Hungary. Thank goodness for his increased stamina, or else he'd never have made it. He needed to contact Clint Barton without drawing unwanted attention to his and his wife's location. Therefore, he couldn't meet in the city—or country—they were residing in. Fortunately for him, dozens of countries were packed into Europe, and most countries he'd encountered had poor border control—at least for him. He could simply jump or climb over the walls, holding the barbed wire down with his metal hand.

The metal fingers of his left hand tapped out an agitated rhythm on the brick wall behind him as the lightbulb continued to flicker. It was a few seconds more before someone appeared in its orange light, and a few moments later the man stood across from him in the shadows.

"Agent."

"Sergeant. Where's your wife?"

Barton sounded urgent, and James smiling slightly. It was good knowing that someone was there to take care of Katie if something ever happened to him. _Katie_. The smile fell from his lips.

"She's at home."

Barton must have caught the note of anger in his voice, because his tone changed, and his brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"My wife told me something last month," James started slowly, frowning darkly. "Something about what happened to her."

Barton was silent, listening, waiting. No amount of pushing would have moved James to reveal what he had to say before he wished to say it. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hydra…" James's voice lowered to a growl, and he cleared his throat, swallowing. "They sterilized her."

There was no shock on Barton's face, only pain. He took a breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. He knew. He had known for a long time.

"You knew," James stated bluntly, watching the younger man. He didn't think his wife had told Clint about it—not after how hard it had been to tell _him_ , her husband, but…

"I suspected," Clint corrected, running a hand over his face. "Nat," he said, shaking his head wearily. "She's a good friend of mine. Used to work for the KGB. She was trained—tortured—in what's known as the Red Room, same as your wife." _Same as you_ , he seemed to say. "They sterilized her, too. I had a feeling… that _look_ your wife gets whenever she's around my kids, it told me a lot. But I didn't know, not really. Not 'till now."

"She told me a month ago," James murmured, staring at the ground. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he remembered how broken his wife had looked, curled up into a tiny ball in his arms, weeping. "It… it broke her."

"You didn't ask me to come out here just to tell me this," Barton acknowledged, studying the other man. He knew him too well. He remembered how James had acted when he'd called about Katie being shot—he hadn't visited her or let Clint call him because he hadn't wanted to put her in danger. And yet now he was calling him, meeting with him in the middle of a city. "You want something."

"Yeah."

The two were silent for a few seconds. Clint studied James, watching his tells, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "You want revenge."

"I want to make those bastards pay for what they did to my wife," James snarled, his voice lowering dangerously. He glanced around, his sharp gaze piercing the darkness. They were running out of time.

"I don't know where they are," Clint informed him, watching him carefully.

"I do."

 _I do._ The last time James had said those words in front of this man, it had been at his and Katie's wedding. Clint Barton had officiated, and a young woman had been present as well. The girl had helped set his mind right again, prevented him from slipping into the Winter Soldier.

"So you want me to go with you… and do what?" Clint asked him, frowning. "You _know_ that they'll either kill you—in which case you wife will kill you and me both—or capture you, in which case she'll get herself killed or captured trying to rescue you."

James shifted uncomfortably, frowning at the ground. He had considered that, to be honest, but he hoped she'd be smart and stay where she was. It wasn't like she had grown up with someone who picked a fight with everything that moved. Oh wait. "She doesn't know I'm here."

"She's a smart girl, she'll figure it out." Clint paused, watching the other man sadly. His heart ached for Katie: no one should have to go through what she did. But no spouse should have to go through the pain of losing their love, and that was exactly what was going to happen if he couldn't convince James to go home. "Listen. I love your wife like a daughter, and I'd do anything to protect her, which is why I'm telling you to _go home_. Go be with your wife." Clint shook his head, pleading with the other man to just _listen_.

Despite the turmoil inside him, James shook his head adamantly, and his metal hand curled into a fist. "I can't go back. Not until I know that the people who did this to her are gone."

"Sergeant, they _are_ gone. Hydra is _gone_ ," Clint stressed. He wanted to hit a wall, he was so frustrated. James wouldn't _listen_. "And even if you could find them, there's nothing you could do."

"I already found them," James muttered, glancing up the street. There was a reason he hadn't used Katie and Barton's names. He didn't want Hydra to know who they were. He had known they were here. It's why he picked this street corner of all others, why he hadn't met in a field somewhere. "They're here."

Clint fell silent, and his hand drifted towards his bow. A look of fear crossed his face, and guilt filled James's heart when he recalled something he should _never_ have forgotten: Clint had a family. A wife. Kids. Did he really expect Clint to sacrifice them for him? _"What?"_

"They've been following me since I entered the city," James continued softly, reaching slowly around to pull the gun from the waistband of his pants.

"You knew about this?" Clint asked. His expression was growing steadily darker, the glint in his eyes murderous. Laura. Lila. Cooper. Nathaniel. His family—they had already lost a child. They weren't going to lose him too.

James made a half nod, half shake of his head that infuriated the archer further, and Clint resisted the urge to shoot the man with an arrow right then and there. "I didn't know you had a family."

Clint's bow was in his hand now, an arrow on the string, but his hands weren't shaking. Even now he had remarkable control over his emotions and bodily functions: he had to. The slightest fluctuation in the flight of an arrow could mean the difference between a kill shot and a warning shot. With Hydra, there weren't any warning shots. "You set me up."

"No," James shook his head adamantly. "Even if I hated you, I wouldn't give you up. Not to Hydra. Not even for her." _She'd kill me if I did._ "Stay behind me."

Clint vanished into the shadows before James could say another word, and he didn't have the chance to see what happened to him. Seconds later came the sharp, stinging feeling of a dart biting into his neck. Panic spiked within him as he fell to his knees, his vision blurring.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to avenge his wife, keep Hydra away from her—what would she do if he was gone? She'd take care of herself as she always had been capable of doing, but he knew her. He'd seen what had happened to her when he'd been gone, when she'd thought he was dead. He'd seen her after she woke up from her nightmares. What would happen if he really died? She won't make it.

James collapsed, shaking, and fell unconscious.

 _It'll be my fault._

~8~

 _"_ _Soldier. Wake up. Wake up, now."_

James's eyes snapped open and he went to lurch forward, only to be held back by multiple straps and chains. The room was set up in a way very familiar to him, and he clenched his fists when he caught sight of a headset resting uncomfortably close to his body.

 _"_ _Good."_

A man he did not recognize was standing beside him, watching him closely. He was wearing ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and a scar slashed diagonally across his face, biting into his lips and into the corner of his eye.

 _"_ _We had to use enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant,"_ the man informed him, shrugging. _"Now,"_ he said, pulling out a paper with two fingertips and glancing down at it lazily. _"Tell me what you know about Katherine Rogers."_

His heart stopped. _Katie_. James stiffened, grinding his teeth together. Did Hydra think he still worked for them? They obviously didn't know that he had married her. What even was going on? They wanted Katie. He'd gone to kill them and they'd captured him, like Barton had warned him. Where was he?

He supposed that the only reason they hadn't wiped him yet was so they could get information from him… and they likely didn't know how to reset him.

 _Reset._ He shuddered, and his fingers curled into fists.

The man watched him intently, but James saw the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. The man clearly didn't know how long he could hold the Winter Soldier. The man also knew he couldn't use methods of torture on him because he knew that he couldn't damage him—the assassin was a weapon and an asset, after all—, and also because should he break free, James would kill him.

 _"_ _Tell me what you know about Katherine Rogers,"_ the man repeated. A nanosecond later, James was straining against his bonds, fighting to get free… but they wouldn't break. Real fear flooded his body. He couldn't get away. He couldn't get away. He wasn't strong enough. His muscles bulged and strained against the chains and leather straps that held him down, but the bonds wouldn't break.

A slow smile spread across the man's face. A colleague of his appeared: this one was horribly scarred—his entire face and most of his body was covered by them. The first man stepped down quickly, and James knew for certain that this new man was in charge. A third with light hair stood a while back from the others, watching curiously from his position by the door.

"The Winter Soldier," the man rasped, standing in front of James with his arms hanging at his sides. James cataloged what he could see and figure out about the man. _American. Soldier. Warrior. Brawn, not brains. Taunts to achieve results. Knows who I am._ "Reduced to this."

A muscle in James's jaw ticked. He thought he recognized this man—how?

"I saw you, once," the man continued. His voice was eerily soft. "In a bank vault." Chills went down James's spine. He remembered now. The man had stood behind Pierce as the man has slapped him, ordered his mind to be wiped. "I went with Secretary Pierce to watch them wipe you. You were talking about her, you know. Your _Katie_." The man chuckled, leaning forward to rest his mutilated hands on the arms of the chair James was strapped into. "She and her brother did this to me, you know," he whispered menacingly. "I intend to return the favor."

James wisely kept his mouth shut. If he admitted he knew where she was, that he remembered her… it would be bad. They'd go after her. They'd find her. They'd hurt her.

"You're stronger than most give you credit for," the man acknowledged. "It'll make it more entertaining."

 _Entertaining?_

"When we break you," the man smiled grotesquely, the melted skin around his eyes moving to cover them almost completely. The man pulled a knife from his belt and used it to make a deep cut down James's arm. He took a sharp breath, tensing, fighting the urge scream as blood drenched his skin. His arm shook, and a groan of pain escaped his lips, and the other man grinned. He made to move, stretching out a hand to grab another knife or needle or something equally painful from the table to his left. An instant later, a silver streak darted past, sending the man cartwheeling through the air and into the metal bookshelves a few meters away. The assistant followed soon after.

James stared in shock and amazement as the young, light haired guard swung a metal pole at the heads of both men, effectively knocking them both out, before dropping it to the ground.

"They're always so fond of speeches," he observed, nudging the leader with the toe of his shoe. He spoke with a thick Russian accent, and he glanced over at James, shrugging. "Why is zat?"

Someone banged on the door, and the young man was there in an instant, letting the other in. It was Clint Barton, sporting a busted lip and a pissed expression.

"Why do I have to keep saving your asses?" he grumbled, looking around for a key.

"Sorry?" The younger man leaned against the wall, lifting an eyebrow. "I had this under control."

The leader groaned, stirring, and the man sped over and knocked him out again.

"What the hell is going on?" James finally asked, looking around in confusion. He had no idea what was happening.

"Barnes, this is Pietro. Pietro, this idiot is Katie's husband," Clint bit out, giving up and slicing through the leather restraints with a nearby knife. Without them, James was able to break free from the iron chains, sending the links and fragmented metal shards in every direction.

"Nice to meet you," James panted, glancing at the kid, who nodded back.

"What do we do with them?" Pietro asked, glancing around at the wreckage he'd caused. A glance out the door showed other men slumped unconscious or dead against the walls, many with arrows sticking out of them.

Clint spoke first. "Leave them."

James rounded on him, ready to shout him down, but the archer stood his ground.

"If we hadn't been here, you'd be a hell of a lot worse off than you are now," Clint snarled, smacking him with his bow. "As it is, you're lucky I don't call Katie right now and tell her exactly what you've been doing. You think she'll be pleased when she finds out about this? When she finds out that you risked your life for something like this?"

"They hurt her," James roared.

" _You_ hurt her!" Clint bellowed back. He was furious with him. He understood how much James loved Katie, how much she loved him too, but this… James wasn't thinking straight. The news of Katie's sterilization had sent him into a fury: Clint had gotten a call weeks ago asking that he come down to Budapest. He hated that place. "She'll already be furious about this: she's never wanted you to risk yourself for her." His tone changed to something almost gentle, pleading. _Imploring_ was the right word. "You think she'd want you to kill for her too?"

"They'll come after us," James murmured, staring down at the men at his feet. He was unsure of what to do. If he didn't do something, they'd hurt her. If he did do something, _he'd_ hurt her. All he wanted was for her to be safe and for her to love him. Right now it felt like he could only have one or the other. How could he have been so stupid? He'd wanted to avenge her, protect her from further harm, and might have exposed her.

Clint was looking at something over James's shoulder, staring at it with a pensive look on his face. He had an idea. "Maybe not." He glanced back at the others and jerked his head towards the back of the room. "Follow me."


	3. Chapter 3

_This entire week has been horrible._ I brushed sweaty hair back from my face as I flushed the toilet again and returned to my bed, pulling a blanket around my shoulders. Almost every time I thought about James, what could be happening to him, it would make me sick. Usually it was after I ate, so I hadn't eaten anything in a while, which also made me sick.

According to the clock on the windowsill it was a little after three in the morning, a time I'd really rather be asleep during. James had been gone for several days—a week, really—and I hadn't left the apartment in at least two, afraid someone would spot me and come after me to get to him, should he be in danger.

As the thought crossed my mind, something struck the door several times. I froze, staring in surprise at the wood. My fingers tightened on the blanket beneath me.

"Katie?" A familiar voice called softly. The sound jarred me from my thoughts and shocked me into action. "Are you there?"

In an instant I was on my feet, flying for the door. I threw it open to see Pietro Maximoff standing right outside it, giving me a weary smile. He looked thinner than he had a few months ago when I'd last seen him—I hadn't seen him since I'd left the Avengers, although we'd grown much closer during my recovery. He had felt horrible about the whole thing until I'd threatened him with bodily harm for suggesting that it should have been him who'd been turned into Swiss cheese. He'd winced at the illustration but had finally given up, although I knew he still felt horrible about the whole situation. Now, though, seeing how I'd settled in, I hoped he'd see that I was happy without wings.

Well. He probably picked the worst week to come by, but still. Wings wouldn't have helped me in this situation anyway.

"May I come in?"

"Pietro," I breathed, covering my mouth with my hand and staring at him in shock. He grinned, and I leapt forward, wrapping my arms around him tightly and hugging him as I almost cried in relief. "Where have you been?" I asked in a cracking voice, momentarily forgetting about everything else. This was my friend, someone I trusted, someone who considered me to be like a second sister to him.

"I've been working to infiltrate Hydra these past few months," he explained softly, glancing up and down the deserted hallway. Not many people lived on this floor, thankfully, and those who did were either asleep, at work, or out of town. I had done background checks on all of them: none of them had any affiliation with Hydra or Shield. They were just normal people. "Clint called a couple weeks ago, told me that Barnes might be about to do something stupid…" He trailed off, seeing my upturned eyebrow. He cleared his throat. "Ahem…"

"And did he?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips. So he had talked to James, had he? My worry changed to irritation, and I frowned. If he had gone and done something like infiltrate a Hydra lair… that was more Steve's style. What had gotten into him?

"Did he what?" Pietro asked, playing dumb. He looked nervous, though: shifting his weight, glancing around. He was hiding something. Not a dark secret, no—I could tell when people were evil: call it a gift. He was hiding something about James.

"Pietro Maximoff," I began, frowning and crossing my arms over my pajama top, cocking my hip. I had a sudden thought, that my kids wouldn't fight if I gave them this look—before my heart fell and my expression followed. I wouldn't have kids. Not now, not ever. The reminder didn't improve my mood. "Where is my husband?"

"Um…"

I schooled my expression and took a deep breath. "I swear, Pietro, if you don't tell me where he is—"

"Maybe you two should continue this conversation inside."

I turned and stared at the newest arrival with wide eyes. "Clint?"

The filthy, bedraggled, and exhausted looking Clint approached me and wrapped his arms around me tightly. I hugged him around the chest even as my body began to tremble. "Hi, sweetheart."

I pulled away, shaking my head, hiding my shaking hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt. Why were they here? To tell me that James had been captured? That he had been killed? Tears filled my eyes as my stomach twisted sickeningly.

"Clint—" I choked out. Bile rose in my throat. "Oh," I gagged, then turned tail and ran back into the bathroom. I heard the front door close behind me as I vomited into the basin, and one of the men held my hair back.

I finally sank back, curling into a ball with my head resting against the edge of the sink. "How long has this been going on?" Clint asked in concern, kneeling down beside me as Pietro held a cloth under the faucet.

"Since he left," I whispered, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. "I just… I keep thinking of everything that could be happening, what they could be doing to him—"

Clint glared in the direction of the bathroom door as Pietro handed me the cloth. I rested my shaking hand on Clint's arm as I pressed the cloth against my burning forehead.

"Is he alive?" I asked hoarsely, staring up at him. I had to know. I was sleep deprived and weak and terrified. I couldn't think straight. I needed to know. "Please," I whispered.

"Yes, Katie, he's alive," Clint told me, pulling me in to wrap his arm around my shoulders. Goosebumps rose on my arms and bare legs—I was wearing cloth pajama shorts that left my bare legs to rest on the cold tile floor. It was one of the reasons I'd started keeping a blanket in there, so I wouldn't freeze.

"Then where is he?" I pulled out the note James had left and showed it to Clint as tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away. "He left this almost a week ago, but—"

"He left a _note_?" Clint clarified, scowling.

"Yes. I just need him home," I pressed my palms against my eyes. _So I can kill him myself_ , I thought as my emotions shifted towards anger. An instant later, my stomach twisted again, and I pressed my hand against my mouth, breathing heavily. _What if he's gone?_

"Give me a second." Clint stood and left me with Pietro, heading into the main room.

Pietro picked up the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around my shoulders. The next thing he handed me was a small cup of mouthwash, which I took with a small smile, used, and spat into the toilet.

"He loves you, you know," Pietro said, settling down beside me as I flushed the unsavory contents away. He wasn't disgusted by it at all: good. He'd seen me in a worse place.

"You talked to him?" I turned my watery eyes on the young man beside me, staring up at him. I had pieced a couple things together in spite of my tendency to jump to the worst case scenario: Clint and Pietro had been with James recently, and he had done something with regard to Hydra. The thought made me want to cry and punch a hold in the wall, neither of which would be a good idea.

"I did."

"What was he thinking?" I turned on my knees and gripped Pietro's hand tightly, shaking my head. How could he be so stupid? What could possibly drive him to do something like that? Assuming, of course, that I was correct in my assumption that he had gone against my wishes and tracked down Hydra. "Why would he just leave me like that?"

Pietro looked over my shoulder and then glanced back into my eyes, worried. "That's something you need to ask him yourself."

I turned around to see Clint standing in the doorway holding out his hand towards me. "C'mon, Katie," he offered me a half smile. "There's someone who wants to see you."

A part of me wanted to refuse to move until he came in and spoke to me himself, but instead I room Clint's hand and let him pull me to my feet, which froze against the cracked tile. I followed him into the main room of the apartment and looked at my husband sitting on the couch. His right forearm was heavily bandaged, and he was sporting multiple bruises on his face. The bandages were bloodstained and dirty, at though he'd gotten hurt, been patched up, and then decided to go roll around in a muddy sandbox. Dark lines cut across his arms and neck—were those _burns?_

I froze, my hands jumping to cover my mouth as my stomach lurched and tears sprang to my eyes.

"James?" I croaked.

My husband stiffened, shrinking in on himself like a kicked puppy. He looked up slowly as though his eyes weighed a thousand pounds, and when his gaze met mine, something inside me broke. I leapt forward and wrapped my arms around him, also hitting him as hard as I could without injuring him further.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I shouted, stepping back and crossing my arms over my chest. I'm sure I looked a frightful sight—I hadn't slept in three days, I hadn't eaten in the same amount of time, I hadn't touched my hair in a week—I also was an ex-assassin and a furious wife. James was right to be frightened. A few stray tears squeezed out of the corners of my eyes, but otherwise I hadn't broken down. In fact, I hadn't cried at all in the last week—besides the first night—except when I threw up, in which case it was involuntary. "You disappeared for a week with _no_ notice and you think that's _okay?!_ " I threw my hands in the air, wiping away the moisture on my face. _"Where were you?!"_

James swallowed, tracing the bandage on his arm. He took a deep breath and stood to face me, and he looked me in the eye. "I went to track down Hydra."

My hands froze in mid-gesture, and it was several moments before I remembered to lower them again. I was stunned into silence by his admission, and it took several seconds of opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish to finally regain the ability to speak. _"Hydra?"_

James nodded. "Yes."

"And this—" I gestured to his battered body, and my voice broke. Didn't he realize how much this hurt me? I saw James flinch at the crack, and I swallowed. "This is from them? They caught you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my—" I covered my mouth with my hand, taking deep breaths. I wasn't going to throw up again, not right now. I had stocked the fridge with Sprite after the third day of vomiting, and I was running dangerously low. It was like my nightmares had come true. They had found him, they had tortured him, they had hurt him—

For a moment I lost control of my thoughts, and my mind jumped to the memory of James lying, mangled and almost completely unrecognizable, on that table. Even though it had been an illusion, or someone else, or something else, it still was burned into my mind forever. I sank down to the floor and drew my knees up to my chest. "Did they wipe you?" I whispered, staring at his feet.

He bent down until he was at my level and sat mirroring my position. He then shook his head firmly as his shoulders sagged in relief at his admission. "No. They questioned me."

"About _what_." I didn't know if I cared, not really. At this point I was growing numb, on the verge of tears, and just wanted to be alone. At the same time, I didn't want anyone in the room to leave.

"You. Rumlow, he was a sleeper agent inside Shield. He said you and your brother hurt him—he was covered in scars. He wanted to return the favor, hurt you back."

That information was new to me. "I thought Rumlow was dead—a building fell on him, how in the world is he still…" I shook my head. It didn't matter how he was alive. That wasn't important.

" _That's_ what you're focusing on?" James asked in disbelief. "Not the fact that Hydra's looking for you?"

"Hydra is _gone_ ," I shook my head. How I wanted to believe that. That we were safe, that no one could hurt us. But they were looking, weren't they? And if they ever found out where we were…

"I didn't tell them anything." It was as if he'd read my thoughts. James reached out and touched my hand, and I let him. I wanted nothing more than to hold him, be held by him, for him kiss me and promise me that everything would be okay.

"I know." Our foreheads touched, and we were silent for a few minutes. I was painfully aware of Pietro and Clint's presence in the room: they were standing on the other side of the room, by the door, discretely trying to look away and not listen to our conversation.

"Why did you go after them?" I finally asked, opening my eyes and staring into his, searching for an answer. I squeezed his hand. "What could possibly be worth risking your life for?"

"You." I blinked, lifting my head a little, and he rested his free hand on my cheek. "All of it was for you. For what they did to you." His blue eyes hardened. "I wanted to make sure they could _never_ hurt you again."

"James," I whispered, swallowing as my throat tightened. I tightened my grip on his hand, making him look me in the eye. "Don't you understand? The _only_ way for them to hurt me now is for them to hurt you."

"I know." He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were glassy with tears. His voice was broken and pleading, and it tore at my heart. "I just… I'm sorry."

"I love you," I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, feeling him stiffen in surprise. I frowned and pulled back a little. "What's wrong?"

"I thought you'd be furious with me." The tiniest smile pulled at his lips, though I had no idea what in the world was funny about any of this. It hadn't yet occurred to me that he could be just as exhausted and sleep deprived as I was. "That you'd ha—" he cut himself off.

I froze, my eyes widening. "You thought I'd hate you?" I whispered, unable to speak any louder. My heart broke, shattering into a thousand pieces. For the first time since he left I started to cry, and hot tears started to pour down my cheeks. James looked panicked, horrified at what he'd said, and he immediately rushed to comfort me, pulling me into his arms and shaking his head.

"No," he swore, shaking his head so hard that his loose hair flew around his unshaved face. "No, I _know_ you. I know you'd—"

I shook my head, pressing my hands against his chest, refusing to be comforted. "No! Stop it." I held still, staring at my husband, the man I loved, the man who apparently thought I would hate him for trying to protect me. "Tell me the truth."

He looked me dead in the eye. "I am. I am, and I always have, and I always will. I don't think _anything_ could make you hate me. I _know_ you. Everything I've said, I've meant: you are lovely and kind and beautiful and _good—_ " he squeezed my hand tighter. "You are _not_ what Hydra made you. But… I _am_ afraid. I get doubts that in _no_ way reflect how I feel and think about you—where I worry that I'll mess up, that _I_ will break you, that I'll hurt you to a point you can't recover from. That's on _me_ , Katie, not you."

I sat silent as he spoke and refrained from speaking once he finished, choosing instead to stare and our clasped hands. I couldn't think straight. I was confused and exhausted and worried and relieved and angry and…

"I didn't tell you that I was leaving because I didn't want you to follow me," he finished softly. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. "I didn't want you to get hurt if something went wrong."

It was for me. It was all for me. Everything he did, everything he risked, it was all for me. That _finally_ pierced through my hazy thoughts, and it finally clicked that I was crying harder than I had in months, that I was shaking as though about to fly apart, and that James was holding me in his arms, one hand on my head and the other on my back, his nose pressed against my hair.

"I love you," he swore, pulling back and kissing me, allowing me time to pull away. I didn't. I met him, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him back as I forgave him. I had missed him, and I loved him.

"I love you," I mumbled against his lips, and he chuckled. I felt his relief in how he kissed me: as though he had come to the brink of losing me but had managed to pull me back again, safe.

"I didn't want to lose you," he told me as he pulled away, staring at me with half lidded eyes. He didn't need to explain himself. I understood now: I'd probably understand even better in the morning once I'd actually _slept_. "I didn't want you to die because of me."

I shook my head. I wasn't going to leave him again, and I wasn't going to lose him. If he made a mistake, I'd be right beside him, just as I knew he'd always be right beside me. "I _told_ you, Barnes," I kissed him again and then pressed my forehead against his. "You can't get rid of me that easily. Together or not at all, remember?"

"I remember."


	4. Chapter 4

_"_ _You have to eat something."_

 _"_ _I'm not hungry."_

 _"_ _Katie—"_

 _"_ _I'm_ not hungry _, Steve," I choked out, rolling over and pulling the wool blankets up to cover my head. I felt Steve's hand rest on my shoulder, hesitating as he decided whether it was worth it to pull it away and reveal my face._

 _"_ _He wouldn't want you to starve yourself," Steve murmured finally. I feel my bed sink down as he sat on the edge, his weight making the thin matters buckle._

 _More tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks, leaving salty residue and chalky lines on my skin. I rubbed my nose, smearing wetness on my sleeve, and let our another sob. "He's_ gone, _" I practically screamed, bringing my legs to my chest but not releasing my grip on the blankets in case my brother tried to take them away. "He's gone, Steve, it doesn't_ matter _anymore!"_

 _"_ You _matter, Katie," Steve swallowed thickly—I could hear his voice strain as he tried to hold himself together for me. Few people had tried to talk to me—Dum Dum, Peggy, Howard, Steve—but Steve was the only one who'd gotten me to say more than two words. "Bucky wouldn't want you to hurt yourself because of him."_

 _"_ _Together or not at all," I blurted suddenly, blinking away the beginning of a new onslaught of tears. The underside of the blanket glowed a dim umber, and the light that managed to seep through the fabric turned my skin and sheets the color of caramel._

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _That was our deal," I swallowed and pulled my teddy bear—the one Steve had bought me so long ago—closer to my chest. I felt like a child for holding onto it for so long, but right now… I needed it. I felt so incredibly and completely alone… I wanted my mom. I wanted her to be here to wipe my face with a damp cloth and mother me and tell me that everything was going to be alright. "Together or not at all."_

 _"_ _I don't—Katie, I—" Steve was confused, not understanding what I was saying, so I tried to explain it to him as I started hiccuping, choking on the tears that threatened to drown me._

 _"_ _The n-n-night before w-we le-eft for the mi-ission, I told him—him I didn't want him to go. We—we ended-ed up talking for hours af-after. Be-before I left to g-get ready, he m-made me a p-p-promise," I clutched my injured hand so tightly that fresh blood stained the bandages, but I didn't care. "Tog-gether or n-n-not at all." My face was numb, my skin buzzing, asleep. My hand throbbed, stitches tearing through flesh from where I'd been stitched up: when I tried to grab James as he fell, a piece of shrapnel had torn through my hand. Howard told me it was a miracle I'd retained the ability to use it. "He promised me he wouldn't leave me alone, Steve." The air under the blanket was growing stifling, and I started to sweat._

 _"_ _Katie," my brother breathed._

 _"_ _He_ promised, _" I wept, throwing back the blanket and sitting up so quickly I almost slammed my forehead into my brother's nose. "He promised he'd come back, he promised he wouldn't leave me alone, he—" I hugged my middle as gut-wrenching sobs tore through me, and Steve wrapped his arms around me as I cried._

 _"_ _We were gonna get married, Steve," I pressed my face into his side as he rubbed my arm and back, and I felt his own tears fall onto my neck and shoulder. He stilled for a moment. "He proposed to me last week. We were—" I curled into a tighter ball, shaking my head. "He was—I was—We—"_

 _Steve shushed me softly, rocking me like he had when I was small, and he pressed my old bear into my arms. I wasn't sure right then why I'd brought it—I was an adult, after all—but I was very glad I had. I clutched that bear to my chest like a lifeline, pressing its fuzzy head against my chin as Steve wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. James's words echoed in my mind, and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter._

 _Together or not at all._

My eyes snapped open and darted to the window; it was still dark outside. Cold sweat covered my skin, and I threw my legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. My husband was still asleep, curled up on his side with one arm tucked beneath his cheek and the other clutching the blanket to his chest. His brow was furrowed as though in concentration, and his lips were moving soundlessly.

I stood up and padded over to the window by the fridge, staring out at the starlit skyline. The moon was a little past overhead, and it sent silver light spilling over the brick and cobblestones to create a peaceful, almost beautiful setting.

I wrapped my arms around my waist. It had been more than a week since James had come home. I hadn't been sick since—we figured that the nausea had to do with stress and PTSD, or a combination of the two. The memories of all the torture I had gone through, plus the thought of my husband being tortured in the same way I had been… I guess it had been too much to handle.

I swayed on my feet and moved to sit down, slightly dizzy.

Clint had left the day after James had returned, taking Pietro with him. Pietro needed to see his sister again, having not seen her for several months, and Clint wasn't about to let him infiltrate Hydra again. Clint himself was getting ready to take his family on a trip to the lake—he just had to work out a few details with the Avengers first. He told me it would be a month or two until he left, though.

I returned to bed, smiling giddily when James, still asleep, slid his arm around my middle, pulling me against him. I rested my cheek against his arm, letting my eyes drift shut. How glad I was that all my fears had come to nothing.

Together or not at all.

Together.

I wasn't about to let anything change that.

~8~

A horrible, guttural scream tore from James's throat, shocking me from sleep. I jerked away from him, falling off the side of the bed, tangled in sheets. My eyes stared into the darkness, trying to make out our upside down apartment, trying to see if there was an intruder, to see what was happening—

I hooked one arm over the side of the mattress and heaved myself back into the bed, grabbing hold of my husband's arm and using it as an anchor. "James!"

My husband wasn't just or fighting off an attacker; he was asleep—and having a nightmare. He was shaking, and every few seconds his body would twitch and jolt. His hands would clench into fists and then his fingers would splay out before fastening onto the sheets again. His face twisted into an agonized expression that stopped my heart, and a horrible howl filled the air as his shoulders lurched, almost taking him off the bed.

"James, wake up!" I crouched over him, almost sitting on his lap, and shook his shoulders, trying to force him out of this horrible dream. "James!"

His eyes flew open, wild and unseeing. His lips curled back in a snarl as he rolled over, pinning me beneath him, and wrapped his hands around my throat.

My mind blanked. He wasn't choking me, he wasn't hurting me, even though he was clearly unaware of what was happening. However, I panicked. I had a flashback to a time more than two years ago, back before Hydra caught up to me again, before they tortured me, before all this had happened… and the Winter Soldier had been strangling me. The memory brought back a wave of emotions—terror, anger, helplessness—and in that moment I reacted, throwing my husband off of me with enough force to break down a wall.

He hit the wall opposite with a huge crash that seemed to shake the building, and he stayed where he was, slumped against the wood, staring into nothing. I scrambled back, horrified at what I'd done.

I moved forward, stopped, and then scooted forward again. "Are you okay?"

James shrank back, shaking his head quickly as though trying to clear it. He held out a hand, warning me back. "Don't."

"I'm sorry," I whispered as tears sprang to my eyes. I hadn't meant to—

Right then I didn't even remember that James had had his arms around my throat; all I could think about was the fact that I'd used my strength to throw him away, that I could have hurt him, that I still might have hurt him.

"S'not your fault," he mumbled, refusing to lower his hand. "It's mine."

"No. No, James, it's not—"

"Stay away from me!" James's eyes widened, and he raised his arm as though to ward off a blow. But he wasn't afraid of me. He wasn't trying to keep me back because he was afraid of me. He was afraid of what he'd do to me if I got too close.

I thought I'd known heartbreak before. I _had_ known heartbreak before, many times. But this was another category. Those heartbreaks: betrayals, deaths, loss, pain—they were different from this. This made me go numb, made my soul ache because the person who shared it was so lost. Nothing quite compares to seeing the person you love cowering, shrinking in on himself because they're afraid of himself and what he's capable of, afraid of hurting you by accident. And he wouldn't even let me near him.

~8~

"Hey. Hey, it's okay." Katie was shaking, and her free hand was pressed against her throat as she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. Was she hurt? _Did I… Did I strangle her?_ "It's okay. It was only a dream."

James stared at her for a second as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then his gaze dropped to his hands. His lips parted as he looked from them to his wife and back again, and then the realization struck him, and he fell back away from her, partially shielding his face.

"Don't," he coughed, shaking his head violently. She had knocked the wind out of him when she'd pushed him away, and it was a struggle to speak, but he didn't care: he deserved it. "Don't come near me."

"James." Katie shook her head, but didn't move closer. "It was an accident."

"I hurt you." The words tore at his throat and his heart, and his chest tightened. He gripped his left hand in his right, trying to break it, but all that happened was that the metal dug into the flesh of his right hand.

"You didn't. You didn't mean to. It was an accident." Katie hugged her middle as tears sprang to her eyes, and James felt his bottom lip tremble as his breath hitched.

"But I did it."

Katie didn't come closer, honoring his wish, but she draped a blanket over his shoulders as she settled down with her back against the side of the bed. "What were you dreaming about?" She pulled a faded blue pillow from where it lay forgotten half beneath the bed, scrunching it into a ball in her lap.

He didn't answer. Dread curled his stomach into knots, and he swallowed, pressing one hand against his bare stomach. He thought he might throw up.

"James." His name was the barest hint of a whisper on her lips. He glanced up at his wife, guilt washing over him as he took in her grieved expression and the tender skin his hand had so recently been wrapped around.

He didn't want to tell her what he'd dreamed about. He was terrified because... It had felt so real. It hadn't felt like a dream, it had felt like a memory, and if this was real... He didn't know how he'd ever be able to face his wife again.

"Um... It was dark." His voice was raspy, heavy with sleep and sorrow. His flesh hand clenched the blanket so hard it hurt, but he didn't stop—he needed to pain to anchor him. "I was in a dark room somewhere underground. A woman was standing in the middle of the room, and... She just stood there, staring at nothing, just kinda waiting for something, I don't know what for. She wasn't armed—but her arm had this horrible burn on it." His voice cracked. "I attacked her. She fought back, but..."

Katie had gone very white, and the few freckles sprinkled across her pale face became much more pronounced than before.

"Whenever I knocked her down, she'd get back up, scrambling back into the corners away from me, until—" James took a sharp breath as his eyes turned glassy, the whites of his eyes slowly changing pink from the salty tears. "I managed to get her on the ground. I kept hitting her. She threw her arms up to try and stop me, but I held her down and... She... I didn't stop, I tried to strangle her."

James watched as Katie's hands began to shake. Her face hadn't changed at all since that day. It was her. It was always her face in the dreams-but James needed to know if it was real.

"And that's when you woke up?" She rasped, swallowing.

"Yeah."

The couple sat in silence for a long time. Katie was staring into space, fighting back tears, and James was watching her, waiting for the gavel to fall.

"Was it you?"

Katie finally turned her gaze onto her husband, and he was shocked by the lack of anger in her eyes. She wasn't mad. She was sad—she was crying, tears streaming down her face and soaking the collar of her pullover—but she wasn't angry. At least, not at him. "Yeah," she whispered, wiping at her face to get rid of the wetness there. "Yeah, it was. I just... I didn't remember till now."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." James pressed his hands against his face, gripping his log hair tightly as though trying to tear it out. His breathing grew labored, and he flinched away when he felt Katie's hand in his arm.

"James," she said firmly, gripping his hand and tugging it gently away from his face. "Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me."

James shook his head but was unable to keep her from prying his hands away from his face. How did he keep messing up? All he wanted to do was to protect her, and all he ended up doing was hurting her. Maybe he should've stayed gone. She would've been sad, but she would've been safe.

His eyes snapped open when he felt his wife's lips on his. Katie was practically in his lap, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair. "You didn't hurt me," she insisted. "I panicked, and I threw you off. But you didn't hurt me."

"But I could've," James protested, shutting his eyes again.

"Don't do that," she was crying again, shaking her head so wildly that her hair struck James in the face. He sputtered slightly, leaning back in surprise. "Don't. You didn't hurt me." She kissed him again. "I love you. I will always love you. I don't care what you've done. I love you."

He sat in stunned silence for a few minutes until she spoke again. "We have to stop this," Katie breathed, pulling back slightly and running her thumbs over James's scratchy cheeks, brushing the wetness away. She sniffed, reaching back and rubbing her left eye, smearing the remaining mascara that clung to her lashes and accidentally giving herself a faux black eye. "We can't..." She swallowed. "We're both damaged. But we've both fought through it. And—and I don't care what you've done. We've both done horrible things, to others, t-to each other—but that doesn't matter anymore. You're not the Soldier, just like I'm not the Angel, okay?" She reached out and cupped his face again. "You are _so_ much more than what you see," she breathed. "I wish you could see yourself as I see you."

James chucked hoarsely, leaning into her touch and curling his fingers around her smaller hand. "How do you see me?" He asked her softly.

In answer, she stood, pulling him to his feet. She pulled out her phone, which had been partially disconnected (meaning that no one could track them), and pulled up a familiar song. She swayed slightly, watching him closely as a small smile pulled at her lips.

"Remember this?" She asked softly.

James stared at the phone with a slightly glazed expression, and then a bright smile lit up his face as he crossed to his wife and pulled her close to him, placing one hand on her waist and taking her hand with the other. Katie's free hand she rested on his shoulder, and she smiling lovingly up at him. "I see you as the man I fell in love with so long ago," she murmured. "The man who has done _nothing_ but fight for me and protect me and love me since the day we met. I see the man who has cherished me and _literally_ walked through fire for me. I see the man who pushed me to safety even though it meant his own death. I _see_ you, James."

They swayed back and forth, dancing slowly to the song that had given Katie her name a lifetime ago. Disney's classic song played softly in the background as Katie rested her head on her husband's shoulder, the actions and events of the last hour all but forgotten.

"This was the song... I gave you your nickname," James murmured, resting his chin on his wife's head as they swayed. "The night before I was deployed."

Katie hummed in agreement, laughing softly as her husband spun her around expertly before catching her in his arms again, dipping her low to the ground so that her pajama top rode up, exposing her midriff. "Yeah, you did."

"You can't keep that one, though, not after what they did to it." James frowned thoughtfully as he set her one her feet once more and the two of them spun around, dancing in a square of moonlight. The song changed, now playing another slow song from the same decade.

"Oh?" Katie smiled again, her eyes glinting. James felt his heart lurch—it was as if the universe was shining inside her eyes, putting the night sky to shame. He had thought once that she was his world and that her eyes outshone the stars; he had never felt that as fully as he did right then.

James nodded, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, unaware that he was no longer moving to the music. "My love," he began, kissing her softly. "Darling. Dearheart. Beloved. My heart. My wife." He kissed her after each name, finally stopping and holding her as she cried, her arms wrapped around his middle. "I love you, Katherine Barnes," his voice lifted in a joyous laugh as he said her name, his name, and he kissed her full on the mouth. "Forever and always."


	5. Chapter 5

I woke up slowly to the feeling of someone bushing my hair back from my face. I took a deep breath, my lips curling into a smile as my husband chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest and into mine.

"Good morning," he murmured. A moment later he kissed me, and I finally opened my eyes. I turned my head in response, reaching back to hook my arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. He moved forward until he was holding himself up directly above me, pieces of his now short hair flopping down to rest against his forehead.

"Good morning," I replied, breathless. His hand skimmed up my side, and I rolled out of the way, laughing and batting his hand away.

His eyes lit up as a delighted smirk appeared on his face. "Are you ticklish?"

"What?" I stood up quickly, pulling a blanket around my shoulders. " _No_ , I just—"

"C'mere!" he lunged forward, laughing, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I shrieked with joy, struggling playfully against him. He carried me back to the bed and set me down, still tickling me. I reached up and pressed my lips against his, effectively distracting him, and his hands moved from my sides, one resting on the mattress beside me, the other on my hip.

"I love you," I whispered, smiling against his lips.

He kissed me one more time before pulling back and resting his forehead against mine. "And I you."

A few hours later, once I was dressed and presentable, I glanced over my coffee at him, smiling. "What are we doing today?" I still couldn't believe that he was _here_ , that he was _mine_ , that _I_ was _his_ … sometimes it seemed too good to be true. Despite how close we had been the entirety of our childhoods and engagement, we now were closer that ever—something about knowing everything about the other person, and that person knowing everything about you, good and bad, tended to do that.

James tugged a dark t-shirt on over his head and pulled it down, hiding his chiseled chest from view. I blushed, glancing down and biting my lip before looking up again. He shrugged a long-sleeved shirt on over that, hiding his arms from view. A smile pulled at my lips as I thought suddenly that he should keep the shirts _off_ , but I decided against voicing my opinion.

He sauntered over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. His slight scruff tickled my neck, and I giggled, reached around to wind my fingers in his hair. "You look beautiful," he informed me, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"And you look very handsome," I smiled up at him, squirming slightly as his hand ghosted over my side, threatening to tickle me again. His wedding band glinted in the morning light, and my heart swelled to bursting at the reminder that _we made it. We're together, we're married, and everything is fine and beautiful and good._

"I thought we could go for a walk," he suggested, pressing a light kiss to my palm. "Stop by the farmer's market on the way back, maybe."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," I grinned, kissing him gently. I stood up, still in his arms, and wound my own arms around his neck. "Unless, of course, you want to stay in."

James chuckled, and his lips pulled back to expose his teeth. Every time he smiled, my stomach started doing summersaults. He was so beautiful. Lately too he had smiled more, laughed more. He had been happier even that he had been when he proposed to me, and it made me more joyous than I could say. "Later," he promised. "C'mon."

~8~

 _"_ _I still don't know Romanian,"_ I complained lightly in Russian, leaning against James's shoulder as he sorted through the large pile of plums laid out on the table before us. He kept his flesh arm around my waist, letting his bionic one feel out the plums. Even after all this time, I was astonished with the arm's ability to handle things gently: in my previous experience, the arm had been a very effective weapon.

James chuckled, shaking his head slightly. _"You'll get the hang of it soon."_

Because of our being undercover, we couldn't exactly walk around looking and sounding like a pair of homeless, century-old Americans. We'd had to take precautions, and changing our appearance—in my case, that meant losing my wings (not my decision) and wearing a dress; in his, it meant covering up his arm, cutting his hair, and wearing a hat—was only one of them. The other was, unless we were in the privacy of our own home, speaking solely in Russian or Romanian. Since I didn't actually _know_ Romanian, that responsibility fell on James's shoulders, and although he was trying to teach me, I still hadn't quite figured it out. After learning Russian under Hydra's tutelage, I wasn't exactly jumping at the opportunity to learn a new language. Their methods weren't the kindest.

James said a few words to the woman behind the counter. The lady nodded, smiling at me, and dropped the selected plums into a plastic bag before handing it over to him.

 _"_ _See? Not that difficult,"_ he teased, bending down and kissing my lips as we walked away, our intertwined hands swinging between the pair of us. He squeezed my hand gently, tracing patterns on the back of my hand with his thumb.

 _"_ _Why don't you try speaking in French, then?"_ I replied smugly, speaking it fluently.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced around, then back at me. "Très bien, mon Chéri."

My smug expression fell, and I squeezed his hand. _"That's just not fair,"_ I complained, switching back to Russian and shaking my head.

My husband laughed aloud, doubling over from the force of his mirth. Tears glistened in his eyes for a moment as I began to laugh as well. We continued laughing about nothing as we walked before we composed ourselves. Talk turned to home, to past memories. Wanda had managed to unlock his mind, allowing him to completely remember his past. And while some evil came of it—nightmares in any form were never a blessing—much good came of it as well.

 _"_ _Do you remember when I took you dancing?"_ James asked, pausing to allow a van to drive past before we started across the road. _"And it started raining? I believe that it was the night before I shipped out."_

 _"_ _Of course I remember."_ I tilted my head, thinking back on the memory. Our night several weeks before had been incredibly special, reminding us of the night we both knew we were in love with the other. _"It was the night you gave me my nickname. Angel."_

My smile vanished for a moment, and James was quick to notice. We had talked about it before, but not in extreme detail, and I knew that he understood how painful it was for me that Hydra had taken away something so dear to my heart. _"I know Hydra took that name from you,"_ he murmured, squeezing my hand comfortingly. _"But they still couldn't tear us apart. And now that we're together, I have many names for you."_

 _"_ _Is that so?"_ I turned and faced him, rising onto my tiptoes to wind my arms around his neck. He had given me a few that night, all of which I cherished greatly, and he kept finding more, each of which made my spirits soar, made my heart start to pound. _"And what are they?"_

 _"_ _Beloved,"_ he smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. _"Lovely. Courageous. Strong. My wife. My love. My heart."_ He leaned in, moving so close to me that his lips brushed against the shell of my ear. "Forgiven."

I turned my head and kissed him deeply, making a sound of surprise when he responded with equal fervor. It was only when several other people knocked into us that I realized both that we were on a street corner in a public place and were trying to avoid detection. Although, to be completely honest, Romania—or most of Europe, really—was probably the last place we would be called out for our actions.

A trio of teenage girls were glancing at us from their bench, blushing and giggling. "I love you," I whispered, momentarily slipping into my native tongue. I stared up at him, pressing my hands against his slightly-scruffy cheeks. His blue eyes were so deep I felt I might drown if I stared into them for too long—something I would be quite willing to do if it meant I'd always be with him.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "And I you."

I bit my lip as my smile slowly faded from my face. My heart started beating harder, and I found it difficult to breathe. _"What are we going to do if—"_ I took a deep breath and shook my head. _"If something happens? I don't—"_

 _"_ _Nothing is going to happen,"_ he whispered. _"I'm going to keep you safe. I promise."_

 _"_ _But this isn't something you can fight,"_ I breathed, resting my head on his chest as he cradled my shoulders, rubbing my back with one hand.

 _"_ _I don't care,"_ he replied, tilting my chin up. _"I'm going to protect you. Always and forever, remember?"_

 _"_ _I remember."_ I glanced around, trying to renew the good mood of our walk. I took a deep breath. _"What do you want to do next?"_

When he didn't automatically reply, I looked up, confused, but one glance at his face had me on guard and scanning the crowd for threats. _"James, what is it?"_ I moved closer to my husband and rested my hand on his arm. _"What's wrong?"_

Instead of answering, he started walking across the street, leaving me no choice but to follow. _"James!"_ I hurried to match his stride, noticing with growing alarm that a street vendor, a sleazy, greasy looking man, had abandoned his stall and was running as fast as he could away from us.

My husband stopped in front of the cart and lifted up the newspaper on it. I couldn't read Romanian, and I didn't have to. James's picture was plastered across the cover. It wasn't _exactly_ him—his hair was too long, his face too sunken. And since the image was dated as being taken less than two days before…

 _"_ _What does it say?"_ I pressed closer to him, sending furtive looks all around. A few pedestrians had looked up when James had gone stalking across the street like some sort of predatory cat and now were comparing the image on the newspaper to the face of the man beside me. An elderly man pulled out his cellphone, and my grip on James's sleeve tightened. My heart started to pound in my chest, and I hugged my middle, suddenly freezing cold. _"James?"_

He was holding the paper so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His face had gone completely blank, and his complexion had turned considerably paler. _"It says that I bombed the United Nations conference in Vienna,"_ he murmured, tossing the paper down. His hands were shaking. _"Any information or sightings are to be called in immediately."_

I immediately started trying to pull him away, feeling the color drain from my face as my hands began to shake. Maybe it was the PTSD, but it didn't matter how many times horrible things happened; they always left me a shaking, frightened mess. _"We have to go."_

 _"_ _Calm down."_

"James—" my voice caught, and my husband wasted precious seconds to stop and pull me into his arms, rubbing my back.

"Everything is going to be fine," he whispered, abandoning the Russian language in his hurry to comfort me. I rested in the sound of his voice, the feel of his heart, and allowed myself to believe for a few moments that everything was going to be okay because he was with me. "I promise. Now—" he bent down a little so we were eye level. "We need to split up. I'll go—"

I didn't even let him finish the thought. "No. I'm not leaving you."

"Katie—"

"This isn't up for discussion." I caught hold of his left hand, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline. His callused fingers and chapped knuckles rubbed against mine, providing a sense of familiarity. I tapped my wedding ring against his, and the slight clink made his expression turn gentle. "I'm not leaving you. Not again."

James's eyes moved between mine for a moment, and then he nodded in consent. "Alright." He started moving, herding me along, and the next time he spoke, it was in another language. _"We have to go by the apartment, grab whatever we need, and go. We're going underground."_

I nodded shakily and let him lead the way. I reached up absently and tugged on a loose curl, inwardly cursing whomever had posted the damn picture. _Why couldn't they just leave us alone?_

We moved slowly, walking leisurely along. I felt eyes burning into the back of my head, and I wanted to run, but I remembered something Natasha had once taught me: _"First rule of going on the run is: don't run, walk."_ I was doing my best to remember that. My skirt swished around my knees, and I wished suddenly that I had thought to wear pants or something more practical.

No one was lurking around our building when we reached it, but that didn't mean much. I kept imagining men in black jumping out from behind closed doors, diving through windows, sending grenades through the air vents. I was clutching James tight enough to completely cut off the circulation in his right hand, but he didn't complain.

 _"_ _Stay close."_

We started up the stairs, still holding hands. Our room was very high up—I hadn't realized how high until then—and we didn't have an elevator. Every time the old building creaked, every time the wind whistled across the windows, my heart leapt into my throat. I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want anything to happen.

Our door was still locked, but James froze with his hand halfway to the knob, staring at it with narrowed eyes. He took out the key and unlocked it silently before taking a step inside. I followed, shutting and bolting the door behind me. We hadn't bothered to fix the creaky floorboards—they acted as an effective security system—but we knew how to avoid the worst spots, which is the only reason why we were able to sneak up on the man in our kitchen. A familiar shield was slung across his back.

"Stay hidden," James breathed. "Let me see what he wants."

I nodded, staying in the shadows, keeping my eyes on my brother as my husband moved into the center of the room. Steve turned around, his eyes widening. In his hand was one of James's journals, one of the newest ones he'd started filling out. He had remembered most things, but he was still fuzzy on others—and he wouldn't let me read some of the journals, which led me to believe that they had to do with his time as the Winter Soldier. Even though he was honest with me about everything I asked him, I didn't ask him to relive his time as Hydra's assassin. I didn't want to force him to relive those memories any more than I'd want to relive my own.

"Do you know me?" my brother asked, swallowing. I reached over behind one of my coats and pulled out a pair of knives, which I attached to my belt. My gaze didn't drift from my brother.

"You're Katie's brother." I knew very well that James remembered Steve from before: he knew they were friends, and he knew they cared both for one another and for me. He did care about Steve, I knew, but he cared about me more. And right now, considering the position we were in, he wasn't about to welcome him with open arms. He didn't want Steve to know I was here yet. I froze, feeling suddenly sick. Steve didn't know that I was with James. "Why are you here?"

"I know you're nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be." Steve's eyes flickered to the windows, to the door. "But you know why I'm here."

James shook his head, and I caught the way he tensed, the way his metal hand creaked as it twitched. "I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore."

Steve took a deep breath. "Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive."

My breathing hitched, and I covered my mouth to keep from gasping aloud. They were coming. Had James seen them, back on our walk? Why had we come back here, led them home, to a dead end where we couldn't escape?

James let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists. He looked down, managing to glance my way as he did so. "That's smart. Good strategy." I could hear the anger and fear in his voice, as well as the growing panic that he was fighting so hard to force down. He was afraid for me, for his family. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep me from getting hurt, keep—

"This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."

My husband shook his head, and I saw him press his thumb against the inside of his wedding band. His tone was so defeated that I almost started crying at the sound of it. "It always ends in a fight."

I lurched forward, almost giving myself away, but Steve moved faster. My brother moved forward, his tone hardening in desperation. "You pulled me from the river. Why?"

James looked up, and his tone hardened. "I don't know." He was telling the truth: I had asked him the same thing. He really _didn't_ know why he had saved Steve, except that he knew that he was his friend. His words: _I'm with you till the end of the line_. They triggered something in him, just like mine had. Even though James now remembered everything—or mostly everything, at least—he still was having trouble remembering why he did certain things, trying to understand the line between him and the Winter Soldier, as well as the emotions that linked the two men.

Steve moved closer to him, his brow furrowing slightly as he held out a hand. He didn't understand, he didn't know that I was here, that I had brought my husband back. "Yes, you do."

James whirled around suddenly, eyes widening in alarm. His voice rose to a roar as the sound of gunfire echoed through the building. "Katie!"


	6. Chapter 6

James's reflexes and senses were sharper than my own, and I didn't hesitate before leaping forward into the room as though burned, heading straight for my husband's arms and surprising my brother, who jumped back into the counter in shock. Steve did a double take, thrown off by my sudden appearance. Although I had told him in my letter that I was going to find James, I guess he hadn't thought I'd find him so quickly. Judging from his expression, I guessed that he had hoped I wouldn't be caught up in whatever this was.

James caught me, swinging me around to shield me from anything that might come through the door. Men were yelling in the hall, trying to force the door open.

"Katherine?" Steve stared at me, open mouthed, momentarily distracted from his mission. "What—?"

"You need to get out of here now," James was completely ignoring my brother now. His hands were on my shoulders, holding me close to him while he stared over my head at the door. I could feel his flesh-and-blood hand shaking.

I shook my head, trembling violently. We had planned for something, but not for this. In our plans, we were being ambushed, not outright attacked by an army. In our plans, we could hide in the crowd; the crowd wasn't actively searching for us, looking to turn us in. "I can't. I can't fly anymore. James—"

My husband swore, not angry at me but at the situation itself, looking down at me and then back up at the door. "Hide. Wait for them to leave, then run."

"No! I'm not leaving you—"

"Get down!" Steve tackled us from the side, knocking us out of the way as a spray of bullets tore through the wall.

As soon as we were clear, James was above me, searching me for any sign of a cut or bruise or injury. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." I was shaking like a leaf, but I hadn't been shot. I hugged my middle, trying to steady my breathing as Steve spoke to someone on his comms.

Armed men poured into the building, and James attacked, fighting them off. He tossed them around as though they weighed nothing, throwing them away from me. His rage stunned me; I didn't think I'd ever seen him fight with such precise anger, such focus. He was protecting his family, after all, though.

James slammed his hand down into the floor, tearing up the wood and hauling his backpack from the wreckage. It contained the dozens of notebooks he had filled out before he'd had most of his memory restored, and I knew that, besides his family, they were what he wanted to protect most, should something happen to his mind again. James deflected a bullet with his metal hand and sent the man who shot it flying backwards into the wall.

Steve grabbed his arm, earning him a murderous glare as James reached over to me and grabbed my hand, securing the backpack over his shoulder. "Barnes, stop! You're gonna kill someone."

The look James gave him could have burned a hole through iron. "I'm not gonna kill anyone."

My heart was practically in my throat, choking me. "James—" I could hear more coming. Without another word we took off, dashing down the stairs. James kept me behind him as we moved. he acted with deliberate precision, injuring but not killing, throwing men over the banister only when he knew that Steve would be there to catch them. James pulled me closer as another squad entered the building and opened fire, and we ducked into an adjourning room.

"Hold onto me," my husband instructed, bending down and pressing his lips against mine in a hurried, desperate kiss. He took my hand and started running, and I opened my eyes, wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist as we crashed through the window. We started falling, heading straight for the nearby rooftop, and I let out a shrill cry of joy as I soared through the air. Oh, how I'd missed this. Flying—I didn't regret what had happened to me because the tragedy had given me the opportunity to be with my husband—but I still missed it. For the few second we were in the air, adrenaline pumping through my veins, wind streaking through my hair, tears streaming from the corners of my eyes, I felt free.

Then James hit the ground, landing lightly on his feet, running forward and not bothering to let me slip off; we were about to make another jump. Before he had made it ten feet, something slammed into me, and the force of the blow tore me from my husband's back and sent me sprawling. I rolled several yards, ending up on my back some feet away from him, and screamed when a character dressed all in black appeared over me, brandishing silver claws.

I lay there on my back, staring at him in shock, terror coursing through me. The hit had knocked the breath from my lungs, and I struggled to regain it, trying to will my unwilling lungs to obey. The man took a step forward, tilting his head, surveying me but not attacking. I watching him, unable to find the breath to call for my husband. The newcomer's body was completely covered by a black, armored suit that reminded me of a cat: a leopard or a panther, maybe. The helmet, which completely covered his face, had what looked like pointed ears. Facial features—eyes, nose, cheekbones—were outlined in silver streaks, and what looked like a black and metal claw necklace decorated the upper torso of the suit.

James attacked him from the side, snarling, and knocked him away from me. The man kicked James in the chest, sending him staggering back. The expression on my husband's face spoke volumes: this man was _strong,_ stronger than him and most definitely stronger than me, unless I wanted to try and summon the Angel to try and fight him.

The two fought ferociously, but the newcomer, to my increasing horror, appeared be winning. I just lay there, gasping for breath, hugging my middle, unable to interfere without hitting my husband—and I doubted that my knives would be of much use since James's arm didn't appear to be doing much damage. James was kicked back, and he yelped in pain as his back slammed against the vents, denting them.

Something inside me snapped as my lungs filled with air. I staggered to my feet and hurtled towards the pair as James lurched to the side, narrowly avoiding being caught by the man's talons, which tore through the metal as though it was nothing. My husband cried out again as the man caught him across the face and sliced through his jacket and into his arm. James was flipped onto his back, straining to hold the talons away from his face—he glanced in my direction—I slammed into the man in black, knocking him to the side, and bared my teeth at him, brandishing my knifes. I crouched down low, standing guard in front of my husband.

"Stay _away_ from him," I snarled.

The man made to take a step forward but froze as someone—a helicopter or a sniper or someone else—opened fire. He leapt forward without hesitation while James covered his body with his metal arm, tackling me to the ground and covering me from the bullets, which ricocheted off his body as though it were made of vibranium.

Why was he doing this? Protecting me? He was trying to kill my husband—so why would he try and save _me_?

The hail of bullets stopped, and I peered around the man's body to see that Sam—oh, bless him—had attacked the helicopter that had opened fire on us, knocking it off course.

I was still pinned, my knives useless, and it was only when James slammed into him from the side that I was able to scramble to my feet again. I sprinted forward, only focusing on my husband and the man he was locked in combat with.

My husband rolled, ducking under the man's arm and coming up near me, and held out an arm, shepherding me backwards as he did so. I grabbed onto his shoulders without hesitation, clinging to him as he leapt off the edge, landing on a small shelf of the roof. He took a few steps, and I looked up, tensing when I saw our pursuer sliding down the side of the building after us, his claws tearing deep furrows into the stone.

I looked down as James jumped again, screaming when I realized that he had just leapt directly into the middle of traffic. A car honked and swerved to miss us as I slid off my husband's back, landing lightly on my feet. James grabbed my hand and started sprinting in the opposite direction, dodging cars and leaping over medians. I kept up with him easily, thanking my enhancements—I would never have been able to keep up otherwise.

The orange lights in the tunnel flickered eerily but provided more than enough light to see—and it was by that light that I saw something that had my frantically beating heart sinking down into my toes.

A glance behind me had me outpacing even James, and I grabbed his hand, urging him to go faster. The man was _gaining_ on us, something no ordinary human should have been able to do. A second glance revealed that Steve was close behind the man in back, and that the four of us were outstripping cars belonging both to police and civilians.

"Katie, come on!" James pulled me along faster, leaving me no choice but to take a deep breath and follow. I hadn't run this fast, this far, in… I don't know how long. I didn't think I'd _ever_ run this fast before, actually. "You have to get out of here," he commanded, jerking me out of the way of a black van. The number of police vehicles was growing at an alarming rate, clogging the tunnel. The sound of the sirens was deafening.

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Hold onto me!" I leapt onto his back, holding on awkwardly, his backpack pressed against my chest.

We exited the tunnel, and I squinted against the blinding sunlight as James slowed. I regained my sight in time to see James reach out and deftly grab hold of a passing motorcycle—he lifted it into the air, keeping one foot on the ground, and slammed it to face the opposite direction, landing on the seat. He sped off immediately, heading the wrong direction in traffic, and I shifted to sit right behind him, clinging to him for dear life. He crossed the median, dodging a police car, and wove around the cars all around us.

I turned in my seat in time to see the man in black clinging to the car behind us—I screamed something in my husband's ear that even I could hear over the wind that buffered around us. We crossed under an overpass, and the bike slipped—James reached out with his left hand and pushed off the ground, sending up a flurry of sparks as the bike was turned upright once more. I snatched a grenade from his backpack at his command and, when we passed back into the light, I hurled it up to the ceiling.

The grenade went off, blocking us from them. I turned my head to look to the front—something jerked the bike to one side, sending me flying off. I hit the ground on my left side and rolled—I looked up to see James kneeling over me, Steve standing over him.

"Steve?"

His blue eyes were wide and frightened, but not focused on me.

"Are you okay?" James was shaking, and his lip was bleeding. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck as a sob tore from my lips. He stood, bringing me with him, not letting go of me. I wasn't hurt—I hadn't broken anything, my stomach wasn't hurting, I wan't bleeding—other than the road rash I'd obtained, I wasn't injured.

"I'm okay. Are you—?" I touched his face, and my thumb smeared the blood from his lip across his chin. "You're hurt—"

James Rhodes landed several feet away, aiming his guns at us. James tensed, tightening his grip on me, and I pressed closer to him. Steve was holding out a hand as if to warn James away from doing something he'd regret. My brother must have had a skewed view of James if he thought he'd do anything to endanger me.

"Stand down, _now_ ," Rhodey bellowed.

Police and armed guards converged on us, all aiming their guns at the five enhanced (or, in Rhodes's case, gifted with an Iron Suit) people.

"James," I whispered, his name barely a breath on my lips.

"I love you," he kissed me, pressing his lips firmly against my mine.

"I love you." I was fighting to keep from crying. Steve slung his shield back across his shoulders, glaring out at the men all around us.

"Congratulations, Cap," Rhodes snapped, and we all turned to look at him. His voice lowered and changed to sound something like regret. "You're a criminal."

The man in black reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a young man with dark skin whom I did not recognize. The others did, though, it seemed—Steve's eyes had gone wide.

Several of the men tore me away from my husband, taking him to the ground and locking his arms behind his back. I screamed, fighting against them, only stopping when I met James's eyes, saw him shake his head. _You can't risk getting hurt,_ he was saying. The men around me would have no qualms about shooting me, and I couldn't let that happen. I stopped struggling, though I was still crying, and I let them cuff my arms behind my back, ignoring Steve's indignant commands to be gentle.

"You're Highness," Rhodey stated bluntly. I turned and stated at the newcomer, confused, and found that he was already looking at me. His had the most curious look in his eyes, although it was shadowed by intense anger.

"Steve—" my voice cracked, growing higher, and I broke eye contact with the man and craned my neck, searching frantically for my brother. Surely he could do something, save my husband, save me, but even if he could… would I let him?

"I'm here." And he was—he was right beside me as they ushered (dragged) us towards a string of vans. They shoved Sam in first, then the other man, and then Steve, and were about to drag me off somewhere else when my brother tried to intervene.

"She didn't do anything wrong," he barked, and a couple of the men paused. "She's not dangerous."

The men decided not to listen, choosing instead to drag me towards a third van—I caught a glimpse of James's face in the second right before they slammed the doors shut. A few took hold of my arms, unlocking the restraints before setting me in a chair in a glass and steel box, locking my arms into place, pulling down straps to keep my shoulders and chest in place as well. I he;d perfectly still, staring straight ahead, not wanting to give any of them an excuse to hit me. They locked the door, setting guards to watch me from the outside.

What was going to happen to us? They wanted James, they thought he'd killed a bunch of people, and they had his picture—how? Why? Someone was framing him, obviously, but… I froze. Was it Hydra? Were they after us? Had Rumlow found us again, tracked us despite his memory of James's capture being erased?

Because that's what they did—James told me. They had hooked Rumlow up the machine, the chair that had taken my life from me, and they had wiped him. Not completely, but just enough that he wouldn't remember what he'd done. Despite not liking Rumlow and hating all of Hydra, I didn't think anyone deserved to be wiped. I didn't want anyone to experience what I had, even if I hated them.

But if he couldn't remember, and I knew that it was near impossible to remember, then who was after us? And why now? Most of the world knew about the Winter Soldier and the Angel thanks to Natasha dumping all of Shield's files onto the internet, but no one in two years had tried to capture of kill either my husband of myself. Before, it wouldn't have mattered—I would have tried to get away regardless of the consequences. Now, though, I couldn't risk getting hurt because—

I choked, hyperventilating, and began praying, trying to still my shaking hands and keep hot tears from sliding down my cheeks. "Please, keep us safe. Please don't let them hurt him. Get him out of here, please. Don't—" my voice broke, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. I had always prayed that he would get out, even if I didn't. I didn't have that option anymore. I had to get out, more so than him, and I knew that even if I fought him, he'd make me leave first, choosing to give himself up rather than see me harmed. The men had disarmed me, although they hadn't taken away my ring. My dress was tattered and torn, and the rash on my legs and arms burned but didn't bleed badly despite the pieces of gravel that were embedded in my skin.

"Don't take him away from me," I breathed, closing my eyes and swallowing as I felt the van roll over a pothole, jolting horribly. A few of the men turned their heads, their expressions hidden behind dark masks. "Please don't take him away from me. I can't lose him again."


	7. Chapter 7

I was jolted awake almost a day later as the van jerked to a halt. My hands curled into fists, and I leaned away from the soldiers as they opened the back of the truck. I needn't have worried about them touching me, though—they didn't even take me out of my cage. They lifted it and me into a large room bustling with activity, and it was there that I saw my husband locked inside a cell exactly like mine.

"James," I lurched forward, unable to reach him, and tears that I couldn't wipe away filled my already gritty eyes. My heart began to pound, and an odd mixture of relief and panic filled me—relief that he was alive, panic about what was going to happen. "James—"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Steve, who had just exited his own van, speaking to a short man in a pale suit and gesturing wildly in my direction. I couldn't quite make out his words; there were too many people in the room. Besides: the rest of my attention, besides being focused on my husband, was fixed on the dark skinned man, now dressed simply in a black shirt and pants, who was standing less than ten feet from me. I stilled, meeting his gaze, and my brow furrowed. My cheeks were still damp, and one hair clung to the edge of my nose, tickling my skin painfully. I didn't break his gaze.

The man turned and said something that shocked me, interrupting the heated discussion between my brother and the much smaller man in the cream colored suit. "Release her."

Suddenly I did not want to leave my cage. My clenched fists flattened out, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that I felt the metal cave beneath my fingertips. I saw James's head jerk up, saw him turn his face to stare at me as the smaller man consented to the larger's demands. I met his frantic gaze as my hands began to shake, but before he could communicate anything to me, they unlocked the door.

Multiple men came into the small cage and unfastened my restraints, re-cuffing my arms in front of me. I stood on legs as steady as jello, almost falling over—everything below my waist was asleep after having not moved for almost twenty four hours. I kept my head held high as they marched me forward out of the cage, trying to hide the abject terror racing through my veins.

They led me along behind my brother's group through the large building, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop, trying to do anything to distract from the fear that clawed at my heart.

"See that their weapons are placed in lockup," the man in the pale suit ordered the woman beside him. I started, blinking—It was Sharon Carter, Peggy's niece. "Uh, we'll write you a receipt."

"I better not look out the window and see anybody flying around in that," Sam growled, watching a solider stride off holding his wings. A man right in front of him carried my brother's shield. I looked over my shoulder, trying to meet James's eyes—his locked with mine for a split second before his cage disappeared from view. My heart crawled into my throat, and I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. Steve squeezed my shoulder and didn't let go.

"You'll be provided with an office instead of a cell," the small man told us as we followed him, escorted by numerous guards in berets. "Now, do me a favor: stay in it."

"I don't intend on going anywhere," the man they called 'Your Highness' said, glancing over at me. The hairs on my arms and back of my neck rose, and I all but snarled at him as we continued walking. I knew why he wanted to stay: to kill James. That would not happen, not so long as I was alive.

A few moments later, two of the soldiers broke off from the rest, leading me with them, and entered a room on the same floor as Steve's. They set me in the center of the room, and the dark skinned man, the one they called 'Your Highness,' entered right after.

"Leave us," he turned his head to command the men behind him. They obeyed immediately, shutting the door smartly behind them, and I heard the lock click—as if it could have kept either of us inside.

Dark, burning eyes met mine, and I took a step back, tearing the chains off my wrists with one motion. If he was going to attack me, I wasn't going to be defenseless. The metal dropped to the floor, clattering loudly against the tile at my feet.

The barest hint of a smile pulled at the corer of his mouth, and he nodded as though I had just confirmed his suspicions. "So," he began, his voice slow and rich but at the same time booming and commanding—the voice of a king. "You are James Barnes's _accomplice_."

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes, and crossed my arms. I lifted my chin, finding myself standing with the stature of a princess, refusing to bow to the man before me. "I am James Barnes's _wife_ ," I corrected softly, watching the man before me. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he nodded, glancing me over once.

"I suspected," he stated, nodding carefully. "Why does the Captain care for you?"

"He's my brother," I informed him, standing up tall and trying to look as intimidating as possible in a flowery, tattered dress and skinned knees and elbows.

Recognition flared in his eyes, and he nodded slowly. "So you are the famous _Katherine_ _Rogers_ ," he said, speaking almost to himself. "The Angel of Death."

I almost choked. I didn't think I'd ever have to hear that name again. His use of the title shook my facade, sending it crumbling down and revealing the frightened, hurt young woman underneath. I wasn't a soldier anymore. I wasn't strong. I was weak. I was in pain. And I was terrified.

"And who are you?" I asked, moving to sit down slowly in the chair behind me. I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible, hiding the fact that my legs were about to give out.

"I am T'Challa," he said, resting a hand on a chair in front of him, "Pri—" he stopped himself as a pained look filled his eyes, and he took a deep breath as though to steady himself. His grip on the back of the chair tightened, and the plastic creaked ominiously. " _King_ of Wakanda."

I vividly remembered visiting Wakanda—it was a vibranium goldmine. Ultron had gone to great lengths to acquire the metal, and stopping him had cost me dearly. I shuddered as a memory, long buried, reared its ugly head, and I clenched my hand into a fist, rubbing my ring, as the memory of seeing my husband die in my arms flashed through my mind.

"And what does the _King_ of Wakanda want with my husband?" I asked with some effort, shoving the thought from my mind and tilting my head curiously. _And with me?_

"Your husband killed my father," T'Challa stated bluntly, watching me with those angry, dark eyes. My memory flashed back to my walk the morning before—had it only been yesterday that everything had been perfect?—when I had seen the newspaper. I remembered seeing a picture of my husband's face—the article had said, according to James, that he had bombed the United Nations' conference in Vienna. T'Challa's father must have been there.

I shook my head, suddenly very aware of the danger I was in, and crossed my arms over my middle. If T'Challa suddenly decided that hurting my husband wasn't enough… I didn't know if I'd be able to fight him off. "He didn't."

T'Challa refused to remove his gaze from my face. "You would defend him."

"Yes, I would defend him!" I stood, furious, ready to march up to the king and yell and rage until he understood, until I _made_ him understand that James hadn't done anything, that he had been with me in Romania, taking care of me, protecting me—my husband hadn't stepped foot over the border in almost three months. As soon as I leapt to my feet, though, the room swayed, turning violently on its head. I threw out an arm for balance, staggering to my left, and then T'Challa was at my side, grasping my arm and lowering me back into my seat.

"Rest," he ordered, his voice surprisingly gentle. I pressed my head into my hands, willing the world to stop spinning and trying so very hard not to vomit. I took small breaths, afraid that breathing too deeply might cause me to throw up. I didn't understand it. Why was T'Challa trying to help me? A moment ago it looked as though he was ready to kill me and my family.

The king stood in silence while I caught my breath but finally spoke a few minutes later. "Does he know?"

I swear my heart stopped. My mouth went dry as my hands started sweating, and my heart jumped to make up for lost time, pounding painfully against my ribs. I didn't answer, and I didn't look up, but I felt his posture shift, felt the energy around him change to something almost dangerous.

"Besides the mantle of king, I also bear the mantle of warrior," he informed me, taking a seat nearby; I heard the chair creak in protest as he sat. "That title has been passed down for generations, and the one who bears such a mantle protects our land and our people. They are stronger and faster than any other: a chief among men." He paused, and I still didn't look up. "I have been gifted with abilities that surpass those of ordinary men."

My insides twisted, and the back of my throat stung as though bile were rising up in it, ready to spill over into my mouth. With effort, I swallowed, shaking. "Why didn't you kill me?" I whispered, pressing the balls of my hands against my eyelids.

" _You_ did nothing wrong," he informed me, not sounding at all happy that I'd changed the subject. "And I do not harm women—without cause—or children, ever. But I ask you again. Does he—"

"Yes. Of course he knows." I finally looked up, staring furiously over at the young king as tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. "He is my husband and my best friend, of course he knows what's happening to me. Why do you think he's been at home, in _Romania_ , with me? He wants to spend as much time with me as he can before—" I stopped as the door clicked, opening wide.

Tony Stark was standing there, looking paler and more sickly than I'd ever seen him. He looked like he'd just walked straight through a war zone having never seen death before. At the same time, he was dressed smartly, and a dark vest covered up a red tie and white button down. He strode into the room with purpose, stopping short when he caught sight of the murderous glare on my face. I rose slowly, and I saw T'Challa reach out an arm to try and make sure I didn't fall again.

"Why are _you_ here?" I challenged furiously, clenching my jaw and curling my hands into fists. The last time Tony and I had had a real face-to-face conversation had been some time after I had woken from my coma, soon before I'd left to find my husband. It hadn't gone well, especially considering that the last thing he'd done to me was try to strangle me. "Here to try and kill me again?"

The remaining blood drained from his face, turning him, if possible, even paler, and he shook his head. It must have taken considerable effort to control his tongue. "You need to come with me."

"I am not finished," T'Challa interrupted, his expression darkening.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with you," I snapped, glaring at T'Challa with enough force to send most men slinking away. Not him. He stood his ground, meeting my gaze, but was unable to force me to submit to his will in return.

Stark looked between us for a few seconds before muttering something under his breath, striding forward, and grabbing my arm. "Listen to me, Rogers," he snapped, shaking his head. "I get it. Wrong place, wrong time. I hate to break it to you, but your boyfriend's a murderer. Nothing you say is gonna change that. Your brother needs you right now, and right now he's pacing around the conference room glaring at everyone who comes within ten feet of the glass. Now come with me and talk some sense into him before—"

I tore away from him, practically growling, and Stark came to his senses enough to back away, suddenly looking nervous. "My name," I started, standing straight and tall. "Is _Barnes_ , not Rogers, and the man you captured is my _husband_." I took a deep breath, glancing down at Stark as though he was something unpleasant I'd found on the bottom of my shoe. My voice softened, and I swallowed. "And he did nothing wrong."

Tony stared at me in shock for quite a while before sinking into the nearest chair and letting his head hang over the back of it. He ran a hand over his face and combed through his hair, closing his eyes tightly. T'Challa leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, and watched Tony carefully. I eyed the open door and, without waiting to second guess myself, darted through it, ignoring the shouts from behind me.

 _Bad idea, bad idea—run, run, RUN—_

I sprinted for the door on the opposite end of the hall, ignoring the shouts and the sound of feet pounding against the tile. I could hear Steve's voice—he was speaking somewhere nearby. I flew through the nearest door and ran smack into the wall opposite. I shook my head, stunned, and slammed the door shut, locking it.

Shouts erupted on the opposite side, and I gasped, fear flooding my body and numbing my fingers. The fight or flight instinct that had lay dormant for so long was back with a vengeance, and I was flying from danger as swiftly as I could. I turned and fled, sprinting down the hall, moving faster than I had since I'd last flown. I scanned every room I passed, searching for my brother; the building's acoustics were terrible, his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Steve had to be here somewhere. I had to reach him. He could help me, he could help _us_ —

I kept going, panting, keeping one hand pressed against my middle over the stitch forming in my side. If they found me, they would kill me. I ran faster.

Steve's voice was getting closer, clearer, and now I could hear Sam as well. I slipped, knee smacked against the concrete. I gasped as tears sprang to my eyes but kept going, scrambling to my feet and hauling butt towards the other end of the building. I skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding hitting the wall again, and spotted my brother standing in the room across from me.

"Steve!" I cried out his name and sprang forward—he turned around and burst through the door in time to catch me in his arms. The force of my jump knocked him backwards a few feet, and I wrapped my arms around his chest as he enveloped me, holding my shaking form close to him. He would protect me. It would be okay.

"Katie." I felt him kiss the top of my head and heard Sam shouting down the man in charge. I could feel the confused, wary gazes of the soldiers standing around watching the two of us, and I could hear Tony and the other soldiers hurrying closer in pursuit. "What happened?"

"They're coming," I gasped, pressing closer to him, shaking horribly. "They're going to kill me."

"What did I _just_ say?" I looked up to see the man from earlier, the man in the cream colored suit, step up, scowling. Recognition crossed his face, and he opened his mouth, a horrible expression marring his features. He obviously recognized me, and the fear that encircled my heart sent dark spots dancing along my line of vision. "Guar—"

"She's my sister," Steve interrupted, standing straight and towering over the other man, who lifted his head high and stared defiantly back. "She is _not_ a part of the Accords and, even if she were, she didn't do anything wrong."

The man sputtered, momentarily stunned speechless. When he finally spoke again, his face was flushed, either from anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure. "You—" he pointed at me, taking in my torn dress, bruised body, and tearstained face. "Do _not_ leave this room." The unspoken threat hung in the air, and I nodded. Steve, one arm still wrapped around my shoulders, steered me inside, and Sam followed protectively behind us. T'Challa entered a few moments later. He looked at me for a long moment, nodded—was that _respect?—_ , and then entered an adjourning room to speak with someone else.

I sagged back and would have crumpled to the ground had my brother not caught me and placed me into the nearest chair. He crouched down before me, one hand on my knee, staring at me in concern and frustration.

"Katie…" he trailed off, looking down, and I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he tried to figure out what to say to me. I knew what he must be thinking: I disappear for almost a year leaving nothing but a letter, telling no one where I'd gone—as far as he knew—and then get caught up in this whole ordeal that had landed my husband in prison. "What happened?"

I offered Steve a small smile. "I got married," I whispered, tapping my left hand against my thigh before letting it drop. I stared down at my lap as my eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I murmured, shuffling my feet and resting my right on top of my left. "Clint knew—he married us. Pietro and Wanda were there—and Peggy." I jerked my head up as tears started streaming down my cheeks. "Steve—you have to do something. Get Peggy—she knows where we were, she has influence over these people, please—"

I stopped talking when I realized how pale Steve's face had gotten, how his entire body had tensed up. My stomach dropped. "Steve?"

"Peggy—" his voice broke, and I finally saw the bags under his eyes, the bloodshot quality the whites of his eyes possessed. "She's gone," he finished hoarsely.

I stared at my brother in stunned silence as his words echoes in my ears, too shocked to even cry. Peggy was gone. She was dead. The woman who had been one of my only friends as a young woman, the woman who had used her influence to search for me even though everyone else thought I was dead, the woman who had come to my wedding and given me away to my husband—she was gone.

"Stevie," I whispered, and even the simple word caught in my throat and threatened to strangle me. "I'm so sorry."

Steve shook his head adamantly, his Adam's apple bobbing jerkily. "Even if she were here, she couldn't help," he warned me softly. "She wouldn't have remembered."

"When…" I couldn't bring myself to finish the question.

"Less than a week ago," he told me, dropping his gaze and studying his fingernails intently.

I took a deep breath, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. I could grieve later. Now, though, I had a more pressing issue: keeping my husband from being killed for a crime he didn't commit. "We have to do something," I whispered, leaning forward.

"I know. And I'm trying." Steve pressed his head into his hands and dug his fingers into his hair. His grief was plain to see, and it broke my heart. Through it all, though, he was still fighting—for me, for James—he had to be. My faith in him, which had carried me for decades, had never felt misplaced. Not until I heard the next few words that came out of his mouth. "But there's nothing I _can_ do, Katie. I'm sorry."

 **~8~**

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 **Hey guys :) Does anyone have any idea what's going to happen to Katie and James? A few people have told me they think Katie is pregnant (apparently forgetting the procedure that rendered incapable of having children)... if anyone has an explanation for that, I'd love to hear it! I'll update again within the week :)**


	8. Chapter 8

I sat curled up in a small ball in one of the conference chairs, unwilling to speak to or look at anyone. My brother, when he saw me shut down, decided the best thing he could do was to leave me be. T'Challa didn't bother speaking to me, although he did continue to shoot furtive glances towards me through the glass. Stark didn't speak to me either, which was just as well: I might have attacked him if he'd tried. This left Natasha, who ended up joining me in the next swivel chair over and pulling her left leg up to cross over her right. She wrapped her arms around her knee and leaned forward to look at me.

"It's good to see you."

The words were so out of character for her that I actually snapped out of my daze to stare at her. I didn't have the will to smile, but I managed a small nod, struggling to speak around the aching lump in my throat. "You too."

"You've been busy," she said, shifting her weight while the chair squeaked and groaned beneath her. "Congratulations," she added, nodding to my wedding ring.

"Thanks," I choked out, staring at the ground with stinging eyes. I wouldn't cry. I would _not_ cry. Not here.

"Katie," Natasha began, her voice gentle.

I shook my head. "Don't," I choked. "Don't—I _can't—_ "

"What happened?" she shook her head. "How did they find you?"

I thought back to yesterday—why hadn't we just stayed inside? No one would have found us if we hadn't gone on a walk, if we hadn't forgotten to be cautious… "A man in the market saw James," I croaked. "He called them. I-I don't know how they got there so fast, I— _Natasha_ —" I fought for breath, digging my nails into the upholstered leather arms of the swivel chair. An iron band was wrapped around my chest, squeezing, making it impossible to breathe— "Natasha, is this Hydra?"

" _No_ ," she reached out a hand and took hold of my own, squeezing it tightly. "No, Katie, it's not Hydra."

"Then why is this happening?" Hot tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks, leaving damp tracks across my skin. "W-Why is that happening to us? We j-just wanted to be left a-alone," I struggled for breath and didn't fight against Natasha when she leaned over and hugged me. It was a slightly awkward hug, as though she didn't have much practice, but it was genuine, and I was comforted by the knowledge that even though my world was falling apart, there were still constants there, however small. "I can't lose him again," I hiccuped, digging my nails into the back of her jacket. "I c-can't."

"We're working on it, Katie," Natasha murmured into my ear. "I promise we're working on it. You have to trust me."

She pulled back a little and examined me closely, her eyes darting between mine.

"How far are you willing to go?" she asked me softly, glancing briefly over my shoulder at the guards milling around behind me: I could see their reflections in the glass wall before me.

Once, my answer would have been immediate. _As far as it takes._ Indeed, the words were on my lips—but they caught there and wouldn't leave my mouth. Now… now I _couldn't_ go as far as it took. James would never forgive me if I risked everything for him, and I would never forgive myself… but I also would never forgive myself if he died because I had failed to act.

"Katherine Rogers!" Stark entered the room, looking even more haggard and angry than he had a few hours ago when I'd last spoken to him. "Care to try and sway your brother?"

"Barnes," I snarled, glaring up at the younger man with teary eyes. _"Barnes_. _"_

"Care to try and sway your brother?" Stark repeated, running a hand over his mussed hair and scowling at the wall, ignoring my comment. "He's refusing to sign the accords."

"Of course he is," I heard Natasha murmur. A small, proud smirk ghosted across her lips.

"And you want me too… what?" I stood shakily, staring furiously up at the man who had, the last time we'd had a dispute, tried to strangle me, and was now trying to try my husband as a murderer.

"Talk some sense… what am I saying," Stark said, scratching absently at his chin and glaring furiously up at the ceiling. "There's a better chance of hell freezing over than of you helping me—"

I stopped listening: I had just caught sight of a monitor hidden behind his right shoulder, a monitor showing the room where James was being held. My heart stopped beating for a moment, and I tensed as though I'd received an electric shock. He was staring straight ahead, looking almost bored, but his body was coiled and tense.

Steve entered the room again, met my gaze briefly, and then turned his attention to the screen. His body language was radiating barely checked fury, and I couldn't help but wonder, in the one part of my mind that wasn't worrying about my family, what Stark had said to him to make him so angry. I stood, drawn to the television like a moth to the flame.

"Ms. Barnes." A woman with light hair appeared at my side and tilted her head towards the door. "I'm here to escort you to another room."

Her dark eyes bore into mine, and I suddenly knew her. She was Peggy's niece.

My stomach clenched, and I took a deep breath. Behind me, Steve and Stark were arguing once more. "Take me to him," I breathed. She nodded once, glanced over my shoulder, and turned around, taking me from the room and deeper into the building.

~8~8~8~

"Let me inside."

Sharon and I stood right outside the door.

"I can't."

I turned and stared incredulously at the woman beside me, not believing my ears. "You can't?"

" _I_ can't," she repeated, reaching out and slipping something flat and smooth into my hand. "You can. You don't have much time." She glanced inside. "There are cameras everywhere."

No one else was in the room when I entered. I rushed immediately over to the cell but didn't dare touch it—there was no telling what would happen if I did.

"James—" my voice broke. My husband's head jerked up, and his eyes widened as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He leaned forward, but didn't try and break free from his restraints.

"Katie?" he glanced around, and I noticed with growing alarm how slowly he was moving—he was exhausted and weak. "What are you doing here?" he leaned forward a little more, held back by the restrains that chained him to the cell. "You can't be here."

"I had to see you." I reached out a hand, stopping short of the window. "I don't know what to do. James, tell me what to do." I choked back tears, trying to stay strong.

"Katherine, please—" his voice broke, and he dropped his gaze to his feet. "Please. I can't let you stay here. You have to go."

"I can't. James, I can't." I mouthed the words ' _I can't_ ' as I shook my head, my loose hair draping down and sticking to my damp skin. "I can't l-lose you. Not again," I breathed, clenching my outstretched hand into a fist.

He glanced around, working his jaw. "Go outside," he ordered, locking his gaze onto mine. "Wait outside the door. Don't get caught."

"James—"

" _Go._ "

I gulped and retreated, hating myself, and ducked down behind a pillar outside the room. I slid down to the floor as my legs stopped working and curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees. Not a moment too soon—barely had I hidden myself than a man with glasses and dark hair strode by and entered the room where my husband was being kept.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," I heard him say cordially. "I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?"

James said nothing. Metal scraped against the cement floor as the man pulled his chair out, and he grunted as he sat.

"Your first name is James?" he inquired.

My husband remained silent. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. What could I do? _'Don't get caught,'_ James had said. Did he expect me to run?

"I'm not here to judge you," the man continued, seemingly undeterred by his patient's silence, "I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?"

My husband remained silent. My hands curled into fists, and my cheeks burned with heat. "Stop calling him that," I breathed, pressing the back of my head against the wall. I took a deep breath through my nose, and I found myself wishing that the Angel were here, even if for a moment. She'd know what to do, how to fight, how to escape—but then, she never cared if she got hurt, either. I did.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James," the man pressed.

"Don't call me that," James growled. My stomach twisted, and I pressed my ring to my lips. I was the only one alive who called him by his given name—James—and the only one in our former life who called him by that name, either. It wasn't for this stranger to use.

The man seemed to feel that it wasn't worth pressing the point, because he continued to plow forward with his investigation after a few moments of stained silence. I continued to stare straight ahead at the cement wall opposite, trying desperately to find an answer in the cracks in the concrete. "Tell me, Mr. Barnes. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," James muttered his first words of the interrogation. Something struck me as odd about the man's questions, and I stood quietly, pressing my back against the wall and lifting with my feet.

The man continued. "You feel that… if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." I eased up and took a soft step forward, balancing on my toes. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about _one_." I froze as foreboding washed over me. Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong—

The power went out.

Red emergency lights began to flash overhead, but no alarms sounded.

James spoke, his voice low and threatening. "What the hell is this?"

"Why don't we discuss your home?" the man asked instead. His tone changed jarringly; it resembled a snarl, a hiss. Chills crawled down the length of my spine. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no. I mean, your _real_ home." A wave of dizziness hit me and I stumbled, falling against the doorway in full view of the room, and the man glanced around at me. A brief flicker of regret crossed his face, but before I could react, he pulled a gun on me. My grip on the wall tightened.

"Come in," he ordered, cocking the gun.

I was in too much shock to do anything. My mind was blank—could I run? Should I obey?

"Let her go," James growled, locking eyes with me.

The man fired a warning shot that shattered one of the small emergency lights that still continued to strode overhead. "Come. In."

My feet were cemented to the ground. The man strode forward and grabbed me by the arm, hauling me into the room. My mind wouldn't work. The man's gun was aimed at my chest.

"Move, and I shoot," he informed me, setting me near the door of James's cage.

"No!" James screamed.

"It will be a slow and painful death," the man continued, "and you will have accomplished nothing."

He paused, and he changed languages, switching from English to Russian. _"Longing."_

My heart stuttered, and it was a few moments before I realized why. In the few seconds between words, my eyes locked with James's.

 _"_ _Rusted."_

 _"_ No," my husband whimpered. His jaw locked as he tensed, fighting off the control with everything he possessed. He pressed back against the chair he was locked into, shaking his head minutely. "Stop."

"Stop it!" I made to move forward, and the man shook his head, training it on my stomach—he knew what he was doing: being shot in the stomach and bleeding out was one of the most painful ways to die. I froze, unable to move. I had never in my life felt more helpless than I did right then.

 _"_ _Seventeen."_

"Stop," James pleaded weakly. He pressed the back of his head against the cell, trying to block out the sound—

"James!"

 _"_ _Daybreak."_

The scream that filled the air sent me to my knees. I screamed with him, a sob tearing from my own lips, a sound so guttural and primal that it sent fear careening through my veins. For the first time, my mind started to wake up. I wrapped my arms around my middle, unable to move for fear of being shot. James tore his metal arm free.

" _James_ , listen to me! Focus on my voice, please!"

The man waved his gun and fixed me with a burning glare. _"Furnace."_

James shattered the binds that held his other arm down and got to work on the ones that chained his legs.

 _"_ _Nine."_

"James, listen to me!" I was sobbing, shaking horribly—I couldn't watch this, I couldn't bear it—how did this man know these words? This damn code, these words that would tear everything away from me _again—_

 _"_ _Benign."_

My husband was beating the glass, hammering at it, trying will all his strength to break it, to silence the man trying to silence _him—_

"Stop it!" I screamed, sobbing. "Please," I was begging the man now, trying to appeal to the smallest shred of humanity he still possessed—"Please, don't do this, _DON'T DO THIS!_ "

 _"_ _Homecoming."_

Spiderwebs appeared on the glass.

 _"_ _One."_

I let out a strangled gasp. James and I shared words, then—at least the one, maybe more. My husband locked eyes with me as he beat at the door, fighting furiously against the evil that shadowed his mind and threatened to take him away from me. His blue eyes were wide and panicked, and he looked more afraid than he ever had before.

The man frowned down at me, confused—I thought my words weren't in this book; was there more than one copy, or did the Winter Soldier's instructions also include my own?

James bellowed out a single word as he screwed up his face against the war raging in his mind, and he slammed his fist against the door for the last time. I could feel his pain in my own mind, and I could see in my mind's eye all the nights I had stayed up, stroking my husband's hair back from his eyes, promising him that we were safe, that he'd never go through this hell again.

 _"_ _RUN!"_

I tried to move, and I scrambled back from the cage as the man spoke his final word—he didn't fire the gun, perhaps out of fear that the sound might deafen James to his instructions.

 _"_ _Freight car."_

The cell door flew across the room, narrowly missing me. James fell forward onto his hands and knees in a crouch. The man circled him like a vulture, looking fearfully curious, seemingly having forgotten me.

Silence reigned, and the only thing I could hear was my heart hammering against my chest. James's last request echoed in my ears, and I scooted backwards, barely able to hold myself up, I was shaking so badly.

James rose slowly to his feet, staring darkly at the opposite wall, at me. _Through_ me. Hair hair hung around his eyes, partially hiding them from view. A weak sob caught on my lips, and my back hit the opposite wall.

The man stopped a few inches from my husband's face, staring at him with a sick fascination. _"Soldier?"_ he breathed.

The voice that spoke belonged to the Winter Soldier. _"Ready to comply."_

The man looked over at me, and something dark passed over his face. I understood immediately what was going to happen—he wanted to know if his orders would be followed. He then did something I hadn't expected. _"Pine."_

"No," I breathed, scrambling back to my feet. The Winter Soldier stared at me, no emotion on his face.

 _"_ _Four."_

I screamed as a piercing pain stabbed into my mind, and I fell back, gasping for breath. My left arm stopped my fall, and I felt something break.

 _"_ _Wool."_

I obeyed my husband's final request and ran as swiftly as my feet would carry me, trying to get out of earshot of the man who had been calling my words.

I heard one more— _"Kapitan—"_ before I made it far enough away that his voice couldn't carry. I collapsed on the floor, shaking and gasping for breath. My tattered clothing was drenched with sweat. The sound of dozens of footsteps echoed across the walls, and I ducked beneath the stairway, gasping for breath, to watch in speechless terror as a small army filed past, all armed.

 _They'll kill him._

"Steve," I breathed, shaking my head and staring blankly at the doorway they'd disappeared down. The Winter Soldier hadn't come after me.

I reemerged and started up the stairs—as soon as I reached a hallway I started to run, and at the end of the hallway, I ran straight into my brother. He caught me, keeping me from falling to the ground.

"Katie, what happened?" Steve asked, staring over my shoulder. He kept walking, Sam at his side, and I stumbled along beside him.

"He reset him," I said, trying to sort through my thoughts—I couldn't think straight. He'd tried to reset me but hadn't managed to get far enough into the sequence to do lasting harm—my mind still felt like it'd been shoved into a blender. "James. He—"

"Stay here," Steve ordered, taking off running. Sam gave me a hesitant look but followed after him, leaving me alone. I slid back against the wall and to the floor, hugging my middle, and sobbed into my knees. My mind was foggy; I couldn't think straight. In the moment, I wasn't able to focus on _why_ James had told me to run or why I hadn't attacked the man who'd held me at gunpoint… I couldn't remember why it was important.

 _I hadn't saved him. I didn't do anything._ _I'd lost him because I hadn't acted… I'd left him alone to lose himself at the hands of a madman._

"Forgive me," I pled, hitting my right temple against the wall and curling against the concrete, trying to make myself as small as possible. The one person who'd ever forgiven me, and there was every chance that I'd just lost him forever. "James."

His final request still rang in my ears, and I loathed myself for obeying him. _"RUN."_

"Katie!" Steve's urgent voice tore me from my thoughts—I thought I might have knocked myself out. My brother was tearing back up the hallway towards me. "We have to go." He grabbed me by my arm and hauled me to my feet, barely slowing down.

"Steve—?"

"They're gonna kill him," he steadied me as I stumbled but didn't stop moving. My head throbbed from where I'd hit it against the wall, but my thoughts were clearer now. "You have to get through to him, or they'll kill him."


	9. Chapter 9

There was carnage everywhere.

Where once dozens of neatly placed tables and chairs had rested, piles of splintered wood now lay. Several bodies lay on the ground, motionless; Steve flew by them all, barely sparing them a glance. I followed more slowly, trying to shake the ringing from my ears.

My head hadn't stopped bleeding yet. The blood ran into my left eye and down my cheek to my lips; sharp iron burned against my tongue. It dribbled down onto what remained of my dress, staining the light fabric scarlet.

I stopped, wheezing, and pressed against the wall. I couldn't breathe. I hugged my middle and retched. My head was pounding.

 _James. Get to James._

I lurched away from the wall and continued to stumble along, keeping my eyes squinted almost shut. I heard a helicopter and opened my eyes. I wasn't near the ground like I'd hoped, I was near the roof. Steve's momentum carried him past me and down the hallway, and so I hauled myself arm over arm up the stairs, freezing when I saw what awaited me.

A helicopter was about to take off—my vision cleared for a moment—and James was at the controls. Steve flew past me, diving for the landing skids. He caught hold and was dragged along the roof, physically fighting with the machine, trying to force it to land. The slick soles of his boots fought for traction against the cement as his weight actually brought the helicopter closer to the ground.

James looked straight at me—straight _through_ me—and then turned his snarling face towards my brother, who was now being pulled between the helicopter and the roof, holding onto the bar that hung off the edge.

I couldn't get any closer without getting in the way. I screamed James's name, but couldn't even hear my own voice over the sound of the rotor blades that sliced through the air. With a sudden lurch, the helicopter swung towards me—I lunged back towards the stairs, landing hard on my side, and narrowly avoided a large section of the tail that came flying though the air towards my head.

I looked up—Steve was rising slowly onto his hands and knees, stunned. I hurried over to him, lurching to the side—

Right as I reached him, James's metal arm smashed through the windshield of the machine, seizing my brother's throat in a choke hold. I screamed, grabbing onto his arm, trying to force him away, wake him up—

What remained of the helicopter started to shift, sliding off the building.

 _Let go. Let go. LET GO!_

I fell with the helicopter, with my brother and my husband, as the wreckage hurled from the top of the building towards the river far below. Steve wrapped an arm around me, securing me in his protective embrace, but we still hit the water with enough force to break every bone in my body.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

I convulsed, choking, as water spewed from my lips. I rolled over onto my side, throwing up, trying to banish the intrusive liquid from my lungs. My head was throbbing horribly.

"Come on, Katie." Someone was rubbing my back. "We've gotta go—"

"I can't—" I choked, fighting for breath and coughing up still more water, "—breathe, I can't—"

Someone lifted me to my feet and started half-walking, half-dragging me away. "We have to keep moving."

I tried to walk, I really did—but I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, I could barely think—my brain felt like someone had put it in a blender but stopped before it had been liquified, like it was part liquid and part chunky, gross mess.

 _How must James's feel like?_

I groaned and fell, landing hard on my right knee. Someone looped their arms under me and picked me up, carrying my as though I were a child. My bloody head lolled against his shoulder, and I could see in my mind's eye my skin staining the cloth.

"We're meeting your brother, Katie," the man—Sam—told me, panting as he ran. I kept my jaw locked, fighting against the waves of nausea that rolled over me. My world rocked sickeningly, made worse by Sam's constant movements. "You're going to be alright."

"Where's James?" I managed to ask through barely cracked lips. I coughed again, and then retched, and clamped my lips shut tight. I was afraid that I'd vomit if I opened my mouth any more.

"We're meeting up with him," Sam repeated. His knee buckled, and he dropped, swearing. He didn't fall or drop me, but the force that acted on me as he stooped and rose back up again to his feet was enough to bring bile to the back of my mouth. I swallowed it back, shuddering, and gagged again.

"We're almost there," he assured me. "But you have to stay awake."

I tried to nod, but before I could move, before another sound could reach my ears, I lost consciousness.

~8~8~8~8~8~

Something wet dripped onto my face.

I tried to turn my head, and the earth rocked beneath me. My hands splayed out, nails scratching against the concrete, trying to find a handhold to keep from falling, falling—

"Katherine. Katie, it's alright. You're alright."

I fought to keep from vomiting as I opened my eyes. Steve was sitting on the floor beside me, soaked to the skin. Water dripped from his hair and shirt onto the ground, and a large puddle had grown around the two of us.

I blinked, confused by my nausea and by my current situation. "Why am I wet?"

The tiniest smile tugged at his lips. "We fell in a river."

"A river?" My brow furrowed, and the motion moved a makeshift bandage that had been tied around my head. I touched it, frowning deeply, and winced when my hand came into contact with a large, cloth-covered goose-egg. Memories came flooding back, and I sat up so quickly that I nearly threw up. Steve pushed me back onto the ground, and I caught hold of his wrist.

"Where's James?"

My brother hesitated, but answered me. He knew by now that beating around the bush would do nothing but incense me. "He's not awake yet."

 _"_ _Where—"_

"He's here," my brother continued calmly. "He's alright, and he's here. He's in the next room."

I tried to get up but fell over onto my side as the room gave an alarming jerk to one side. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the floor, trying to take deep breaths without throwing up. I coughed, and water flew from my lungs to join the puddle on the floor, which was steadily growing larger. "I need—to see him—" I managed between coughs, still trying to claw my way to my feet. I could feel Steve's gaze on me, but he didn't make any move to help me up.

"You need to catch your breath," he told me firmly, catching my arm.

I tried to pull away. "You don't understand—"

"We don't think you have a concussion, but—"

"I have to see him—" I fought, straining to climb to my knees.

"You have to be careful," my brother snapped, his voice rising almost to a yell. "You can't just—"

"You don't understand what they did to him!" I yelled back, falling back onto my rear as the effort sent stars spiraling through my vision. _Oh, my head—_

"Then explain," Steve ordered, shaking his head furiously as I pressed a hand to my aching temple.

"It's what they did to me," I panted, putting most of my weight on my left arm as I tried to use the wall as support to stand. Steve just watched me. "What he tried to do to me just now. Reset me. They reset him. God, they reset him." I ran a shaking hand over my eyes. _He reset him._ My heart dropped to rest somewhere near my toes. _Would he even remember me now?_

A helicopter flew by, and Steve moved to gaze out between a gap between two wooden plants, watching it carefully. His eyes were full of pain: for me, for James, for the hand we all had been dealt.

"Can he be brought back?" Steve asked me softly, not looking away from the window.

My throat closed up, and I squeezed my eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Hey, Cap!" Came Sam's urgent call. The man appeared in a nearby doorway, and I grasped Steve's wrist as he moved, forcing him to drag me to my feet.

"I'm coming," I panted through clenched teeth, trembling as a sheen of sweat covered my body. Steve wrapped his free arm around my waist, holding me on my feet. I prayed that my head would heal quickly, that I wouldn't pass out on my way into the next room. "Don't stop me from—from seeing my husband."

Steve nodded and helped lead me into the room. When we reached Sam, he helped me, too. A sob tore from my lips when I saw my husband. He was slumped over, barely conscious, and his left arm was clamped in a vice to keep him from moving.

"James—" I made to step forward, and my knee buckled.

My husband lifted heavy eyes and stared at me. He blinked several times, clearing his vision, and his gaze finally focused on me. A small, relieved smile relaxed his features, and he slumped forward. "Oh, thank God," he breathed.

I lunged towards him and landed on my knees in a puddle directly before him. I grabbed hold of his shoulders to keep from falling and moved my hands to his face, cupping his face and running my fingers over his cheeks.

"James? James, look at me, please—" my voice broke, and my husband reached out with his hand to cup my cheek.

His thumb brushed away the tears that stained my skin, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I love you," he whispered huskily, resting his forehead against mine. "I love you."

"I'm sorry," I squeezed his hand tightly, pressing my cheek against it. "I shouldn't have left you alone—"

"I made you go," he comforted me, shaking his head. "It wasn't your fault."

Steve spoke up, interrupting us. "Which Bucky am I talking to?"

"Your mom's name was Sarah," James answered, gazing over my head at my brother. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

I heard Steve's smile in his voice. "You can't read that in a museum."

"Just like that, we're suppose to be cool?" Sam questioned bitterly.

James breathed out heavily, squeezing my hand. "What did I do?"

"Enough," my brother answered.

My husband squeezed his eyes shut. "I knew this would happen. Everything Hydra put inside me is still there."

"It's inside me too," I whispered, cutting him off. "We fought it before, remember?" I swallowed, sinking down from my knees and onto the floor. My head rested against his knee as the room swayed, not as badly as before, but still enough to send bile up into my mouth. "It wasn't your fault."

"Who is he?" Steve asked.

"I don't know."

"People are dead. The bombing. The set up. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than, 'I don't know.'"

"He wanted to know about Siberia."

My eyes flew open in shock, and Steve saw. _Siberia? When was James in Siberia?_ I still had a few memories tucked away, locked deep inside me. This was one of them.

I thought I might faint again.

"What?" My brother asked, frowning. "Katie?"

"Where I was kept," James continued as though uninterrupted, sparing me from Steve's questions. "He wanted to know _exactly_ where."

Steve looked at him, turning his attention from me and giving me a moment to breathe. "Why would he need to know that?"

James paused and glanced down at me. The light blue of his eyes darkened, and his grip tightened on my shoulder as though to keep me grounded. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

Steve sighed heavily through his nose and closed his eyes. Without another word he went and released James, freeing his arm from the machine—the first thing my husband did once he was free was to catch me up in his arms, holding me close to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and dug my fingers into his hair, shaking with relief. I could feel James's heartbeat through his shirt, and the constant rhythm soothed me, proving that he was _real_ , that he was _safe_ , that he was _here_.

"I love you," he murmured into my hair. I tightened my grip on him. "I love you. It's not your fault. I love you."

It was only once I'd calmed down—and calmed him down, reassuring him that I was alright—that we all sat down again and explained everything to Sam and my brother.

"Who were they?" Steve asked, referring to the other Winter Soldiers that James had mentioned. I shuddered, and my toes curled against the cold concrete.

"The most elite death squad," James said, reaching down and taking my frozen hand in his warm one. "More kills than anyone in Hydra history—and that was before the serum." _And before the Angel._

I appreciated that he refrained from adding the last part, which was completely true: no one in Hydra history had as many kills as I—as _the_ _Angel—_ did. James squeezed my hand.

"They all turn out like you?" Sam asked, raising an accusatory eyebrow at my husband.

I scowled at him through the pain that was building in my head.

"Worse," James replied dryly, not rising to the bait. I understood why Sam was so irritated with James—I really did—but I didn't appreciate it. I myself had done far worse than try to wreck a man's car; besides, he hadn't been himself. They needed to forgive one another and move on.

"The doctor," Steve interrupted their staring contest as he stood and moved restlessly around the room, "can he control them?"

James looked down at me, noting the panic in my eyes, and nodded. He squeezed my shoulder gently with his other hand, rubbing his flesh thumb soothingly over the knuckles of my hand, over my ring. He tapped out a message in morse code. _Beloved_. "Enough."

"He said he wanted to see an empire fall," Steve commented, leaning against the doorframe.

"With these guys he can do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize… They can take a whole country down in one night; you'd never see them coming."

Sam turned his back on us, moving to speak to Steve. "This would have been a lot easier a week ago," Sam breathed, shaking his head.

I looked up at James, tuning out my brother's conversation. My heart was pounding painfully in my throat, and I couldn't get enough air. "This is all my fault."

"It was _not_ your fault." He shook his head, tightening his grip on my shoulder. "It wasn't you. You had no control over it."

"I still did it." I shook my head, swallowing. The room had stopped spinning a while ago, but I still felt sick, even more so after James's admission. _'Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier.'_ "Why would he go after you, why not me? I'm the one who trained them, I—"

"The Winter Soldier was more widely known than the Angel," my husband reminded me. "And you and I—Bucky and Katie—were lost to history. _You_ didn't do anything, Katie." He paused and swallowed before continuing; he sounded strangled. "I'm glad it was me. I don't know what I would have done if you'd been the one who—"

"Stop it." I turned and rose onto my knees, grasping his face in my hands. I didn't agree—I could still hear him ordering me to run, screaming in agony as those damn words bored through his skull. I could still hear my own set of words echoing through the catacombs as I fled, leaving my husband at the mercy of the man who'd dared to use the words against us. "Don't you _dare_ say that. I can't lose you again."

"You can't be the one to face him," James told me as Steve and Sam stepped out of the room to make a few calls. "You know that, don't you?"

"He tried to take you from me," I growled.

James reached up and grasped my wrists gently. "You're not going to face him," he repeated softly. "Do you understand me?" When I didn't reply, his grip tightened slightly. "Katie."

"I can't lose you again," I whispered hoarsely.

His jaw locked, and he shook his head adamantly. "Katie—"

Before he could say anything else, Steve reentered the room. "We're leaving," he told us. "We're meeting somebody."

"Who?" I asked as James helped me to my feet. He kept one hand under my elbow as though afraid I might faint again if I tried to walk without help… Or maybe he thought I'd run away to try and take on the doctor who'd tried to reset us.

"Sharon," Steve answered. He led the two of us deeper into the building. "We're meeting a few hours away from here," he told us as we walked. "Just to be safe."

"Should we all be going if it's not safe?" James asked, squeezing my hand possessively. I squeezed back.

"We're stronger together," Steve reminded him, moving to lean against the side of a small blue car. "If we split up, one of us would—"

"What? Be stuck with me?" Sam popped up from behind the other side of the car and shook his head. "That's cold, Cap."

"No, I meant that—"

"Man in the bird costume's not strong enough to play in the Big Leagues," Sam muttered, ducking back down on the other side of the vehicle. As he disappeared from view, I caught a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Sam—"

"I'm messing with you, Cap," Sam reemerged, this time holding a wrench, which he waved good natured in my brother's direction. "You didn't hurt my feelings."

 _"_ _Sam."_ My husband spoke this time, this tone dark, and he released me as he stepped away to speak with the other men. I may not have been as powerful as I'd once been, but I could still hear well—and I knew that my brother and husband meant that they had to protect _me_.

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Stevie," I reminded my brother softly, crossing my arms over my middle. The movement jarred a very important memory, and I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared over at my husband, wild eyed.

 _Oh._


	10. Chapter 10

"Stay in the car."

"But—"

"Stay." Steve slammed the door shut and moved to speak to Sharon, who was waiting impatiently near the end of the tunnel in which we were meeting. I was crammed into the back seat of the tiny car with my husband, seated directly behind my brother's chair. James was caught directly behind Sam, who was glowering out the front windshield as though it had done him personal harm.

"It's not safe for us to stay here anymore," James reached over and took hold of my icy hand with his gloved metal one, squeezing it gently. "We're gonna get out of this, and we're gonna be okay. Okay?"

I nodded shakily, then stopped and shook my head. "Where are we gonna go?" My eyes filled with tears, which I hastily blinked away. "We can't go back to Bucharest, and everyone is looking for us—"

"For me."

I stopped and stared incredulously at my husband, who was gazing blankly at the back of the seat that was cramping his legs.

"They're looking for me, Katie, not you." He licked his lips nervously. "If we were to separate—"

 _"_ _No."_

"Be reasonable—"

"James—"

"Enough." Sam glanced back through the rearview and frowned at us. "You can figure out your honeymoon plans later." From his tone, I gathered that he was not over the 'Winter Soldier rips out steering wheel' incident.

I bit my tongue, barely holding back a string of furious retorts, and rested my cheek against the dusty window of the small car. My anger evaporated in the wake of helplessness. Why did this happen? Everything kept repeating itself. I find my husband, we start a life, and it's ripped away. How many times had this happened?

My hands curled into fists. And how many times did I think about it without doing something about it?

I glanced over at my husband, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. All he wanted was to keep me safe, and all I wanted was to keep our little family together. Was he willing to sacrifice what I wanted so desperately in order to keep what he wanted?

James tilted his head to catch Sam's eye in the rearview mirror. "Can you move your seat up?"

Sam's answer was a growl. "No."

After a few moments of strained silence, James scooted over, moving closer to me. I kept my face turned away from him, lost in thought. What would we do once we made it out? Assuming we _did_ make it out, of course. Where would we go?

I jumped when James placed his hand on my knee. He leaned over to whisper in my ear, "You're thinking too loudly."

"I don't want to fight anymore," I breathed, shutting my eyes. How many times had I said that, only to be thrown right back into the fray? How many times had I been drawn back to the fight in order to protect someone I loved? I would always be willing to fight, to protect, but now… Now, when I so desperately needed to be able to fight and protect my family, I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. But… but I was still caught in the middle of everything. And I still had to fight. For my family, for my freedom, for my life… and not just for my life anymore, either. For so long I'd only had to protect myself. Now I didn't have that luxury. I couldn't put myself in danger anymore because I wasn't the only one at risk.

"Rise and rise again," James murmured huskily into my hair, "until lambs become lions."

The phrase sounded familiar, but I couldn't think of why. "What?" I finally turned to look at him, confused.

"You are so beautiful," he pressed his forehead against mine, holding my hands close to his chest. "And so much stronger than you know, Beloved. You'll make it through this, I promise."

I glanced out the front window in time to see my brother kiss Sharon Carter on the mouth, and my jaw dropped. I looked over at my husband to see him smiling smugly at Steve, and a glance in the rearview showed a matching grin to be on Sam's face.

Steve turned to us. His expression when he saw our smiles was priceless. Sharon, who's face, though burning, was expressionless, helped unpack her trunkful of goodies—mainly Steve's uniform and shield and Sam's costume—and then left, unable to stay any longer without attracting suspicion.

"What if I can't keep getting up?" I whispered as Steve strode over to get into the car.

James kissed me, not caring that my brother was watching. "Then I'll carry you."

"We have to get some clothes for you two," Steve glanced over his shoulder, avoiding my eyes. "The others won't be too far off."

~8~8~8~

We stayed the night in a safe house. Steve stayed awake, watching for danger, but he needn't have bothered—I couldn't sleep anyway. James and I were in one of the two rooms, asleep on the mattress under a pile of blankets, which all three men insisted I have; something about me not having wings to keep me warm anymore. Sam was up with Steve—I could hear their murmured conversation from where I lay, restless.

James pulled me closer in his sleep, tightening his grip on my waist and nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck. A smile pulled at my lips as his scruff tickled me, but then I bit down on my lips as tears rose and stung my eyes. What if I lost him?

I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket up around my chin, covering both my husband and myself and letting his warmth heat both of us. I rolled over with some difficulty and rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. If this was my last night with him, I wanted to enjoy being with him, safe in his arms.

He looked so peaceful when he slept. Moonlight streamed through the chink in the curtains and cast shadows over his sharp features. Stubble coated his cheeks, parting around his lips, which were open slightly. His long lashes brushed his cheekbones, and his dark hair tickled my forehead.

"I love you," I whispered against his skin. A hot tear slipped between my eyelids and fell onto his skin. His grip on me tightened, and he kissed my forehead lightly. I looked up sharply, meeting his gentle gaze with my startled one.

"I love you, too." He shifted a little and pulled me closer to him, kissing me gently on the lips. When he pulled away, he traced me face with his hand, fingertips skimming gently over my cheeks, my lips, my nose, and ghosting over the bruise on my hairline. The tenderness in his eyes brought a sob to my lips, and the concern on his face led me to believe that he hadn't been asleep at all, only pretending; a silent guardian intent on keeping me safe. "You're not going to lose me. I promise."

He held me close until I fell into a troubled sleep.

~8~8~8~

 _"_ _I still don't think you should come."_

 _"_ _And I still don't want to talk about it."_

 _My head was throbbing, and I pressed my fingers against my temples, avoiding the raised bump on the edge of my hairline. James returned with a damp cloth, handed it to me wordlessly, and joined me on the curb. I pressed it against the bump with a shaking hand, swallowing a moan of pain._

 _"_ _Katie," Steve started. The sound sent a bolt of pain through my skull, and I bit down on the cloth, trying not to scream. A whimper stuck in my throat instead, and I swallowed painfully._

 _"_ _Steve," James interrupted with a sigh. He rubbed my back as I took deep breaths, shaking from pain and nerves—I had had a crush on my brother's best friend for over a year, since before my mother's death. "Enough."_

 _Steve and James had been playing baseball… and things hadn't gone well for me. I had thrown the ball, Steve had panicked and made a wild swing… and the next thing I knew, I was lying on my back in the shade of a tree with two boys fussing over me._

 _"_ _We should get you home," Steve suggested, moving down and taking my hand. I shook my head and whimpered, trying to fight back nausea. The ground was bucking beneath my feet, and it only get worse when I opened my eyes. My hands shot out to fist the grass beneath me as the earth lurched again. "Bucky, can you…?"_

 _"_ _Yeah."_

 _The next thing I knew, I was being lifted up in a pair of strong arms. Had I not been so weak, I would have protested… or laughed. As it was, I couldn't do anything but lay my head weakly against the young man's shoulder and keep my eyes firmly closed, praying I wouldn't throw up on him. What an impression that would make: throwing up on the boy I had a crush on._

 _"_ _Next time, you can come," James told me, squeezing my shoulder gently as he walked. "They're'll be more fairs, and we wouldn't want you getting hurt worse."_

 _A few hours later, I woke up in my own bed hearing James and my brother talking in the next room over. Steve sounded like he'd been crying. I sat up a little and propped myself up on my elbows, watching the cracked door. I wanted water but didn't dare make any noise—my brother never told me what was going on that was_ bad _—eavesdropping, unfortunately, was the only way._

 _"_ _It's been a year, Steve."_

 _"_ _I know, Buck."_

 _"_ _You've done good. Katie's fine, and she's as happy as can be expected—"_

 _"_ _She'd depressed," Steve countered, slamming his fist against the tabletop. I jumped, startled, "and she got a concussion early today because of_ me _."_

 _There was a chilling silence that lasted for almost a minute. I started to throw the sheets and blankets back off my legs, blinking quickly as everything doubled. James broke the silence, his voice almost a growl. "They can't take her."_

 _I froze in the process of trying to get out of bed. Take me? Take me where? Who? I stood shakily and almost collapsed, clutching the edge of the dresser with trembling fingers._

 _"_ _Buck—" Steve's voice broke. I took a couple halting steps and peered through the crack between the doorframe and the door itself, gazing into the next room. Steve was sitting with his head in his hands, clutching handfuls of hair in his fists. James had his hand on my brother's shoulder. "They can't take her. She's all I have left."_

 _"_ _I'm not gonna let that happen, pal." James squeezed Steve's shoulder, reassuring him. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stepped back, horrified. They were going to take me away? Why? Steve had done a fine job taking care of me—it wasn't his fault that I'd run in front of the ball earlier—_

 _Tears of fear turned to anger. Why did Mom have to die? If she had just been stronger, we wouldn't have to face this. It wasn't fair!_

 _I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a picture—and reared back to throw it against the wall—before I could move, I caught sight of the image within the frame. My mother's smiling face peered back at me. She had my father, whom I had never met, stood close together. A tiny Steve stood in between them, smiling at the camera with a missing tooth. My mother's hands rested on her swollen stomach._

 _A weak sob tore from my lips, and I clutched the frame close to my chest as I stumbled back and hit the ground. I didn't land hard enough that the sound could be heard over my brother's grief, and so my own sorrow continued undisturbed. I curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, hugging to my chest all that was left of my parents, and fell asleep to the sound of James Barnes comforting my brother, promising him that he'd do anything to keep our little family together._

~8~8~

"How did this get started?" I asked softly, watching as the others tossed various pieces of armor over the top of the van to one another. "All of this. The fighting."

The only people I didn't see were Natasha, Tony, and Rhodes—and I knew they were all together, likely plotting how to take us down. Well, maybe not Natasha, but the others… Stark had already proven that he was more than willing to strangle me to get what he wanted. I didn't trust that he'd changed his behavior in the months I'd been absent.

"Tony showed up at the base about a week ago," Clint grunted as he sat down beside me on the edge of the curb. "Complained about the state of the kitchen appliances per usual. He pulled up a picture of a young man and kept on going about his business for a couple minutes, and then he lost it." Clint signed. "Started talking about how the man had been killed in Sokovia, how his death was our responsibility, how we needed to be kept in check—how all these horrible things kept happening because of us—New York, D.C., Sokovia, Lagos…"

I wasn't familiar with any disaster at the last location. "And you let him?" I frowned, accusing, and shook my head in disbelief. "You didn't say anything?"

"I wasn't there, Katherine," Clint sighed, running a hand over his cropped hair. "I was with my family at the lake." He continued, and I didn't interrupt again. "Secretary Ross, the man who was in charge of hunting down Banner a few years ago, came to talk to the team. He told us about the Sokovia Accords, which would restrict all gifted or powerful individuals, including the Avengers, and place them under the governments' care."

"That's stupid," I scoffed, shaking my head. "Surely not even Tony—" His expression brought me up short. "No. No way—"

"Tony's the one who called him," he said bitterly.

"But you—we—we weren't responsible for any of those things," I argued, horrified. "James and I weren't even around for New York! As for D.C., it was Hydra's fault, we were just stopping it—and Sokovia was all Tony, the rest of us weren't responsible—and I don't know what happened in Lagos, but—"

"I know. We were faced with a choice: sign the Accords or retire. I retired," Clint stated, shrugging. "Stark, Natasha, and Rhodes all signed."

I rested my bruised head on my knees. "This is so wrong." I looked up at Clint. "If you break the agreement, what happens?"

"We already know we don't get lawyers," came Sam's disgruntled voice. "They'll probably have us shot on sight."

The blood drained from my face, and James appeared around the other side of the van. "Katie?"

Something Clint had said suddenly clicked in my mind, and my stomach dropped into my toes. "Clint—Secretary Ross. You said that he was in charge of tracking Bruce down?"

"Yeah," he nodded. James took a step towards me and then stopped, concerned, but didn't move any closer.

My voice was too high. "Do you have a picture of him?"

"Here."

It was him. I knew him. I _knew_ him.

I'd seen him around New York, and in Canada and in the cities I'd occasionally visit. I'd seen him in the Triskellion and in Washington, D.C. I'd seen him in Bucharest—he'd spoken to me the week that James had been missing.

I knew him because he'd been hunting me as surely as he'd been hunting Bruce.

"Katie?" James was on his knees in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. "Katie, what's wrong? You have to tell me what's wrong." He glared at Clint. "What did you do?"

 _If I tell him, there'll be no way he'll let me follow him. If I'm captured, there's no telling what will happen to me—_

As Clint raised his hands in surrender, opening his mouth to defend himself, Wanda stepped up. "Let me." She gently nudged James out of her way. "Give me space."

 _—_ _to me—or, more importantly, to—_

She bent down to touch my forehead with her fingertips, but I grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand away at the last moment. I snapped out of my thoughts, and my grip tightened.

 _"_ _Don't,"_ I breathed, turning wild eyes on her. "Don't look inside my head."

"Katie." She lowered her voice and relaxed her hand as the glow faded from her eyes. I released her slowly. "Let me see."

"No." I glared at her. "And you can't force me, not without hurting me—"

"I swore I would never enter your head without your permission," Wanda stated softly. "I intend to keep that promise."

"Where's Pietro?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from my dilemma.

"Not here," Wanda replied testily. Behind her, James shifted irritably, shooting worried looks over his shoulder and not paying attention to what Steve was saying to him. "Katie. Let me see; I won't tell the others."

Someone had to know. I nodded slowly, and her features relaxed. "Thank you." She took my hand and squeezed it, then touched my forehead. "Close your eyes, and breathe."

A thousand memories flashed before my eyes—Bucharest, Pierce, Ross, D.C., James, Pietro, plums, a flower dress, a kiss, a scream of fear, darkness, chains, blood, a knife in the dark, light, snow, mountains, feathers, Ross, Fury, an aged photo, a man in a mask, Bruce, Eli, James, a wedding band, a nightmare, a baby, fear, pain, rest, a gunshot, a series of words—

 _"_ _NO!"_

Wanda pulled back, out of my mind, and I lurched forward, panting. Cold sweat clung to my body, and I shook violently.

"Katie? What was that?"

"Nothing." She couldn't have heard the words. "It's nothing."

"Katie, you have to get out of here." Wanda's face was chalk white, panicked. "You can't stay."

"It's too late." Steve glared grimly out the window of the parking garage at the runway several stories below. "They're here."


	11. Chapter 11

_"_ _Here's what we're going to do…"_

I ran alongside my husband and Sam as my brother and a handful of others went to meet Stark and Natasha on the runway. The plan: get to the Quinjet and get the hell out of here. The only problem: my brother and husband were wanted men, and everyone seemed to want me dead. Stark wasn't going to let us near the ship if he could help it.

"Stay behind me," James ordered as we ran. He kept one eye on me as we sprinted around the deck, heading straight for the garage. I could see my brother through the slanted windows of the terminal; he and the others were standing off across from the people who wanted to kill me.

"James—" my voice was too high.

He reached over and took my hand. "It's going to be alright, I promise."

"We found it! The Quinjet's in hangar five, north runway!" Sam yelled.

Something hit the glass window—A figure in red was crawling on the outside of the building. James glanced over, confused. "What the hell is that?"

"Everyone's got a gimmick now," Sam panted.

A minute later, the ceiling shattered, and James tackled me, wrapping his body around my smaller one to shield me from the falling glass. Someone yelled, and I caught sight of a smallish figure garbed in a red, skintight suit swinging from the ceiling. James attacked, yelling at me to run, and the figure caught his arm.

"You have a metal arm?" the figure exclaimed. I froze, stunned. The voice—it was a _kid_. From James's stunned expression, it was clear that he had noticed as well. "That is _awesome_ , dude!"

Sam, wings out, grabbed the kid and flew off with him. "You have the right to remain silent!" the kid yelled, grappling with the older man in midair.

"James!" I was up and running, finally obeying my husband; I could hear him right behind me.

"Keep going!"

Something sticky hit me in the torso, pinning my arms to my side and sticking me to the wall. "What the hell?!" I yelled, thrashing helplessly against the material. The men fought the boy off as I strained to reach the knife strapped to my thigh—James threw a large sign at the kid to distract him.

"Hey buddy, I think you lost this!" The boy threw a sign back at my husband, nearly taking his head off, and I roared in outrage. My anger was enough to tear the webbing from the wall, and I ripped it off me, snarling.

The kid sent a blast of the stuff at Sam and messed up his wings, sending him crashing through a cellphone cart. As soon as Sam was on his feet, the kid shot more webbing at him and fastened his arms to the railing.

"Are those wings carbon fiber?" the kid called to Sam, apparently fascinated.

"Is this stuff coming out of you?" Sam replied, disgusted by the webbing that was pinning his hands together.

"That would explain the rigidity flexibility ratio which, gotta say, that's awesome man," the kid continued. I sprinted forward, and James threw out his arm.

"Get out of here," he breathed.

"I don't know if you've been a fight before, but there's usually not this much talking," Sam barked.

"Alright, sorry, my bad." The kid swung towards Sam, intending to take him out, and James jumped in front of him, taking the hit himself. The two men fell several stories and hit the ground hard—an instant later, Sam's arms were pinned to his chest, and James's wrists were tied to the ground.

"I don't know if you've been a fight before, but there's usually not this much talking," Sam growled.

"Alright, sorry, my bad."

My fit connected with the side of his head and knocked him to the other side of the walkway, and he froze when he saw who had hit him. "I can't hit you, you're a girl!"

I shook my hair, which had long since fallen free from my braid, out of my face. "Fine with me." He shoved me back, tying my wrists together.

"How old are you, eighteen?" he asked, dodging as I tore my wrists free and kicked out at him.

"Ninety," I snarled, running after him.

"Wow," he dodged out of my way and sent a web in my direction, pinning my arm to the railing. "You look good for an old lady."

"Careful: I'm a married woman," I bit back, grinning impishly and learning my arm free.

"A married…? Oh, _you're_ Captain America's sister," he figured out. He sent another web at me, and this one caught my left foot—he jerked it out from under me, sending me over the edge of the shattered railing, and fastened the other end of the web to the ceiling, leaving me suspended in midair.

The kid perched on top of one of the booths, watching us. "Guys, look. I'd love to keep this up, but I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, I'm really sorry—" he let out a yell as Sam's little helper grabbed hold of him and flew him away, knocking him against the ceiling as it went.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" James griped, wincing.

Sam groaned. "I hate you."

James easily tore his arm free and freed Sam before cutting me down and catching me in his arms.

"Come on," he set me down and took my hand, resting his free palm against my cheek. "We've gotta go."

"Wait—" I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him towards me, kissing him on the mouth. I had a horrible feeling—something was going to happen, something horrible—and I didn't want to waste a minute of the time I had left with my husband. James's hand curled over the back of my neck, pulling me gently closer, and he tilted his head. I put up a brave front as I pulled slightly away, breathing heavily. "I love you."

"We gotta go." Sam started running, and my husband and I followed. We tore out onto the runway, where my brother and the others were sprinting towards the quinjet hangar. Before we could make it even halfway, a beam of pure energy split the ground in front of us, cutting us off. I stopped, staring into the sky. Vision, the man who Tony had nearly killed me to create, floated to the ground to join the other side; the members gathered together, looking worse for wear.

"Captain Rogers," Vision called, "I know you believe what you're doing is right. But, for the collective good, you must surrender now."

"Steve—" I reached over and touched his arm. He glanced over at me. "What do we do?"

Steve let out a breath. "We fight."

"Steve," Wanda elbowed her way over to me. "Get Katie out of here."

I opened my mouth to protest, but James intervened. "She's right. Katie—" he took my face in his hands and kissed me once. "Get to the jet."

My friends started running towards the hangar, towards the others, and I followed, staying on the edge. Somehow, I didn't think the others were focused on me. My comms was full of chatter; everyone was talking to their opponents—no, to their friends.

I darted around a charred helicopter, my shoes sliding on the gravel, and caught sight of T'Challa and my husband fighting—I was close enough to hear them speaking without my earpiece.

"I didn't kill your father," James grunted.

"Then why did you run?"

"Because he didn't do anything!" I cut in between them and kicked T'Challa back—Wanda's magic threw him away from us.

James caught my arm and shoved me towards the hangar. "Go!"

I obeyed, running, and somehow made it unhindered into the hangar. I ran inside the jet and started prepping it, readying it to get into the air.

 _"_ _We got to go,"_ came Steve's voice.

 _"_ _That guy's probably in Siberia by now,"_ I heard James agree.

 _"_ _I'm gonna draw all the fliers."_ Steve paused, and I craned to look out the window of the jet, trying to spot him among the wreckage that little red the yard. _"I'll take Vision, you get to the jet."_

Sam refused. _"No, you get to the jet, both of you!"_

"No!" I yelled into the comms. I exited the jet and started running towards the field, ignoring my conscience, which sounded eerily like my husband and which told me to stay where I was.

Clint spoke up, talking directly to me. _"The rest of us aren't getting out of here. As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it."_

Sam agreed with Clint. _"This isn't the real fight, Steve."_

Steve relented. _"Alright, Sam, what's the plan?"_

 _"_ _We need a diversion, something big,"_ Sam muttered.

Scott Lang's voice crackled over the line. _"I got something kind of big, but I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half, don't come back for me."_

James spoke, sounding concerned. _"He's tearing himself in half?"_

 _"_ _You're sure about this guy?"_ Steve asked.

 _"_ _I do it all the time. I mean once… in a lab. And I passed out."_ A moment later, the minuscule man was towering over the airport, looming ominously over everyone else and laughing in amazement.

 _"_ _I guess that's the signal,"_ Steve breathed.

 _"_ _Way to go, tic-tac!"_ Sam cheered.

It was then that I reached the others. James saw me and the blood drained from his face. "What the hell?" He grabbed my arm as he ran and pulled me back towards the quinjet as Steve raced ahead. "I told you to get to the jet!"

"I did, and I started it for you."

An explosion separated us and sent me sprawling. There was blood in my mouth, and my ears were ringing. Gravel bit into my hands and knees as I rose, disoriented. I could faintly hear James calling for me.

"I'll meet you at the jet," I wheezed into the earpiece. "Go!"

I saw my brother and husband rush towards the hangar as I scrambled to my feet, and I watched in horror and helplessness as Vision sent the roof caving in on them. I screamed, trying to move forward but falling instead. Wanda caught it, and one of the others attacked her, forcing her to let it fall. I closed my eyes and heard my brother's voice through my earpiece.

 _"_ _You know I can't."_

"Steve?" My vision was blurry.

 _"_ _Katie, where are you?"_ His voice rose in panic. _"Where are you?!"_

"I'm outside, I'm okay. You have to go. Get James out of here, I'll be fine."

 _"_ _No! Katie—Steve, let me out,_ let me out!"

"Get out of here!" I screamed. I heard fighting, and I heard the comms cut off. I watched as the quinjet rose and sped off without me.

Clint appeared at my side and hauled me to my feet, watching the horizon. "You have to leave," he grunted, wincing as he put weight on his left leg.

"Clint—"

"Get out of here, now." He gave me a push. Gunfire filled the air, and I stared over Clint's shoulder to see an army rapidly approaching.

"Get out of here, go!" Clint pushed me behind him, trying to get me to move. I was rooted in place, staring in frozen horror at what was speeding towards me. They had guns. All of them had guns, had grenade launchers, had orders to shoot me if I tried to escape. T'Challa was storming towards us, and Natasha followed right behind him. His mask was off, held in one clawed hand, and a murderous expression marred his handsome features.

"I can't," I breathed, unable to tear my eyes from the man who had marked my husband for death. I was terrified. My gaze drifted between the warrior king and the rapidly disappearing Quinjet. James was safe with Steve; nothing was going to happen to them. They were safe. What about me? What about…

Clint turned to stare at me. His eyes were wide, wild, and he looked very, very afraid. "What the hell are you talking about?" He gripped my arms hard as he tried to force me to hide, to get out of the way. "You know that Ross is after you."

"They'll shoot me," I met his gaze with mine, and I began to shake, trembling violently. Never, in all my years, had I felt terror as strong as I did then. "I c—I ca—I can't—"

"You can hide," Clint urged, glancing over his shoulder. They were on the lot now, speeding towards us. T'Challa was less than fifty yards away. "If you get shot, keep running, you can heal quickly—"

"No, no, I _can't!_ " I shook my head, and my loose curls flew back from my face as a burst of wind blew through the carnage. Vision appeared, carrying a limp Wanda in his arms. "I can't risk—"

"Katherine Barnes," Clint practically growled, his grip tightening painfully. I recognized his fear: that of a parent for a child. For the first time in my life, I understood it. "Get out of here now! I promised I'd protect you. Now go!"

 _"_ _I can't!"_ I shrieked. I was too scared, too worked up, even to cry. "I'm pregnant," I whispered. Clint stared down at me, an expression of absolute shock and horror upon his face. His lips parted, but he said nothing, stunned into silence. "I'm pregnant." I wrapped my arms around my middle, shaking my head. I was in shock, repeating the phrase over and over. "I'm pregnant."

Clint wrapped an arm protectively around me as he looked around, unable to move. "Oh, my god," he breathed. "Does James know?"

I nodded, unable to speak anymore.

"All the more reason to hide." He pulled me towards the wreckage of the hangar but was blocked by T'Challa.

"I don't care what you do to me!" he shouted. The young king glared at him. "To us. Just let her go," his voice cracked. The man looked away, and Clint's voice rose to something resembling a scream. "She's pregnant!"

Tony jerked around, staring at me with wide eyes. I met his gaze with my own, silently pleading with him, begging him. I couldn't let my child die. I didn't know what they would do to me whether they knew I was pregnant or not. If they didn't know, they might accidentally hurt the baby. And if they did, they might try and hurt my child on purpose—they might use the child as leverage against James.

"Please," I whispered. My lips were trembling. Tony closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists, but T'Challa moved closer, wary. "You let your husband escape?" he asked, his rich accent softening his words. A frown marred his handsome features, but he did not look upon me with hatred. I nodded. "Why?" Clint's grip on me tightened.

"He's my _husband_ ," I whispered. "He didn't do anything wrong."

T'Challa looked around at the army at his back. "Your husband is a wanted man."

"He didn't do anything," I bit out, choking down a sob. I couldn't cry. "We were in _Bucharest_ , we weren't anywhere _near_ Vienna, he was with _me_. Please, I _told_ you!" I shook my head. "He didn't do this," I whispered. When he made to turn away, my voice rose frantically. "Why would he attack the United Nations?" I asked. "We were _happy_. We were a _family,_ we had a _home—_ "

"He killed my father," T'Challa snapped, whirling around to face me, moving faster than I would've thought possible. I found myself nose to nose with a young man who was hurting in ways very few could understand. I was one of the few people who could, and it was my understanding that made me so afraid. I remembered the drive I felt to destroy Hydra, the ones who took my family from me. T'Challa felt that same drive to kill my husband, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

"He didn't," I shook my head.

"I cannot keep you from prison," he said, looking over my shoulder at Clint. "I can, however, keep you and your child from harm." He took hold of my arm, making sure not to hurt me. "Come with me."

"T'Challa." I pulled back, shaking my head. "Ross wants me dead."

The king stopped short, frowning down at me. Stark moved forward until he stood directly in front of me. "That's bullshit. That's bullshit, Rogers, and you know it!"

Stark grabbed my shoulders, and Clint threw him off me. T'Challa did nothing to stop him.

"Touch her again and I'll put an arrow in your head."

"Don't—" I stared straight at Tony, who looked like he wanted to murder me. Clint held my upper arm tightly, holding me back from him. "Don't hurt him."

T'Challa lifted a gloved hand. "Upon my word, no harm will come to your friend or her child," he swore, placing his other hand on his chest.

"Clint—" I whispered. I couldn't stop shaking. I was so, so afraid—but, somehow, I trusted this man, this king. He was angry, yes, but honorable. He was after James because he believed that James killed his father, not because he himself was a murderer. He and I had the same rules, then—I never went after the families of Hydra agents. There were some lines that weren't meant to be crossed. Ironic that so often it's the assassins who refuse to cross that line and the government who chooses to violate it. T'Challa would not have exploited me as a weakness. The government, however, had. And they were stronger than him.

"Keep her safe." My friend released me, glaring daggers at the young king as he led me away past the soldiers. He led me into the back of an armored vehicle where my hands were cuffed together in front of me with metal chains I could not break. An armed guard sat on one side of me, T'Challa on the other. I saw my friends being chained, drugged, thrown into the backs of trucks. I pressed my forehead into my hands.

"Do not try anything," the king warned softly, placing a hand hesitantly on my shoulder. "I cannot guarantee your safety should you try to escape."

I shook my head, curling my fingers into my tangled hair. How had this happened? A week ago things had been perfect—I had woken up beside my husband, the man I loved, and we had gone out shopping for fruit. I never thought I'd walk into our apartment to see my brother—I wasn't sure who was more surprised. Then everything had happened to fast, and we were running… and then the man had reset him. That man—Hydra, rogue, I didn't know—had somehow found James's words and reset him, brainwashed him. And then… My hands moved to rest on my belly. I wasn't showing yet, but I knew that in a few months I would have a baby boy or girl; I would be a mother—unless I wasn't. So many things could go wrong with the pregnancy—

"Calm down." I looked up with dry eyes at the young king beside me. My hands were clenched into fists, my knuckles white, the metal cuffs digging into my wrists.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked hoarsely.

"Justice must be done," he replied sagely, glancing over to stare out his window.

"You don't have proof," I shook my head, staring at him with wide eyes. "You have a _picture_ —"

"And that is not proof?"

My brows furrowed. "No. Not when there are scores of people in Bucharest that James and I spoke with or saw daily that could give testament to where we were."

"Your Highness." A man with white hair and facial features resembling those of a rat opened the door. I knew him—he's the one who stared it all: General Ross. I stared down at him coldly, and he stared back with a smirk on his pinched face. Why was it that the more years passed, the more dense and corrupt army leaders became? We went from Colonel Phillips and Captain Rogers to General Ross, Colonel Rhodes being the one exception. "She and the others are to be handed over to me."

"This woman is under my protection," T'Challa stated slowly, staring the other man down. "I will make sure she is delivered to your prison, but I will do so myself."

Ross opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and nodded stiffly. He met my gaze, his blue eyes burning with barely suppressed rage. I unconsciously shrank back against T'Challa, my grip on my abdomen tightening. I knew about this man—he was a villain, a monster, more so than Bruce and I combined. I knew what he had done, what he was capable of, and I knew he had tortured Bruce. I was terrified of what he might do to me. "I'll see you there." He nodded to me and left.

T'Challa shifted, uncomfortable, and I leaned forward, placing my forehead on my clasped hands, which now rested on my knees. "Get me out of here," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as tears stung them. I fought them back.

"I cannot."

"He'll hurt me. He'll kill my baby." I didn't have the words to convey how frightened I was.

"I will not allow that to happen."

"You can't stop it." I started to shake. "I should've told him. I should've told Steve."

"He would have kept you from the battle," T'Challa agreed. "You would be free. But your brother might not be."

"You're going to go after my husband."

"Yes."

"You'll leave my child fatherless?" I croaked, lifting my head.

The young king's features twisted, and his hands curled into fists. "Do not speak to me of—"

"I grew up without a father," I croaked. "So did Steve. Please don't let my baby—"

"I am doing what I can for both you and your child," T'Challa cut me off, silencing me. "Your husband made his choice."

It was a long time before either of us spoke again—not until we reached another facility. "If you go after him," I swallowed as the soldier unchained my hands from the floor, keeping them restrained in front of me. "Remember what I told you. Do not let revenge consume you, T'Challa. Please."

The soldier set me in a cell and locked the door, blocking the young king from view. I curled into a ball in the corner of the small cell, wrapping my arms around my middle, around my baby.

"God," I whispered, unaware that my husband could hear me through the comms, which had not been taken away. "Please keep my husband safe." I swallowed, and a tear leaked from the corner of my eye and landed on my ring. I shook with fear for myself, for my husband, for my baby, and my voice cracked as the dam broke and I started to shake with sobs that wracked my whole body. "And—and please don't leave us here to die."


	12. Chapter 12

James's fingertips dug into his armrests as his wife's broken voice crackled over the comms as they moved further and further out of range. He had heard her speak to T'Challa, who still wanted to kill him but hadn't, for some reason, wanted to harm her—and he had swelled with pride at the strength she possessed.

The farther he flew, however, the greater the shame that rested upon his shoulders. He had left her. He had left his _wife_ alone with people who wanted to kill her—and not only her, he had left his unborn child as well.

James Barnes listened as his wife pleaded with the young king for _his_ life—and he gritted his teeth in almost physical pain as his wife spoke.

 _"_ _Ross wants me dead."_

She hadn't told him. She had put herself—and their _child_ —in danger for _him._

Katie continued to defend him to T'Challa—and he took a sharp breath through his nose when she began begging for the life of their child, begging the king not to deliver her to Secretary Ross. James found himself wishing that he had somehow been ordered to dispose of Ross while being the Winter Soldier but immediately felt guilty. Katie wouldn't want that. She believed that he was better.

 _"_ _You'll leave my child fatherless?"_ James heard Katie croak. A whimper caught in the man's throat, and his breathing turned ragged. It was his fault. He'd left her. He should have thrown himself through the window and gone to get her, no matter the personal cost. But he hadn't. He'd left her in the hands of butchers.

It felt like years before he heard her voice again—this time, she wasn't pleading with the young king. She was pleading with a far older one; his wife was praying. _"God, please keep my husband safe. And—"_ her voice cracked, and he heard his wife begin to sob, crying all the tears she'd held back while talking to T'Challa and Clint and everyone else. _"And please don't leave us here to die."_

An agonized scream tore from James's throat and he lurched forward in his chair, holding handfuls of hair in his fists—strands caught in the metal plates of his left hand. Tears ran down his cheeks as he wept for the first time in longer than he could remember.

Steve had said nothing this whole time—he just stared straight ahead out the front windshield, his jaw locked, his eyes burning from his refusal to blink—as soon as he did, the tears would fall, and they wouldn't ever stop. He'd left his little sister alone. And though he knew she was strong, he also knew that she was, deep down, still a girl. She loved, she laughed, she cried, she feared… she was his sister, his friend—

His grip on the controls tightened as he thought back to a very different time—back before Hydra, before Captain America—before the Second World War, back when Katie was Katie and he was Steve and there were no other people trying to get inside her head—even though there still were people trying to take her away from him.

 _"_ _It's been a year, Steve," Bucky leaned against the tabletop, frowning._

 _Steve leaned forward, pressing his aching head into his hands. He didn't need reminding. He saw his mother every day—in Katie, in the photos scattered around the apartment, in the wildflowers his sister insisted on placing in an old mason jar on the kitchen table—the jar that sat between him and Bucky now. He didn't need any reminders of her death. "I know, Buck."_

 _"_ _You've done good. Katie's fine, and she's as happy as can be expected—"_

 _Rage flared up within him, and his fingers curled into fists. "She's depressed." He slammed his hand down against the wooden surface of the table, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his arm. He nursed his hand, scowling at the floor. "And she got a concussion earlier today because of me."_

 _There was a long pause. Steve didn't look up, refusing to acknowledge what he was sure was a look of pity on his friend's face. Bucky was the one who broke the silence, and his words matched the frantic thoughts that bounced around Steve's own head. "They can't take her."_

 _Real panic rose within him, and he swallowed hard. "Buck—" his voice cracked, reminding both men that they were barely out of childhood—they were still kids at heart, and they weren't just afraid—they were_ terrified _—terrified that they were about to lose someone that they loved. For Bucky, it meant losing someone he loved as a sister. For Steve, it meant losing the only family he had left. "They can't take her. She's all I have left."_

 _Bucky squeezed Steve's shoulder as the younger men dug the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to fight against the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. He never cried—he had to be strong for his sister. Even when his mom died, he hadn't shed a tear—he knew he had to be an adult, to give his little sister something to lean on. He had to do the same now._

 _"_ _I won't let that happen, pal."_

 _"_ _She'll be an adult in three years," Steve breathed, nodding his head but not uncovering his eyes. Bucky watched sadly as his friend struggled to hold himself together. "We just have to make it till then. No accidents, no getting hurt. We can make it three years. I can protect her for three years."_

"No, you can't," Steve breathed, talking to his past self. He couldn't protect Katie even for that long. She'd been hurt, captured, experimented on, heartbroken… and then, at the end of three years, Bucky had fallen. He had, for all intents and purposes, died. Bucky left Katie a broken, angry young woman—and then he, Steve, instead of staying and helping to fix her, had gone after Schmidt. He had died as well. He hadn't protected her. He had never been able to protect her.

"What're we going to do, Steve?" Bucky asked brokenly.

Everything within Steve wanted to turn the quinjet around and find his sister, whose weakening cries were still audible over the comms device. Deep down, though, he knew that he couldn't do that. The Winter Soldiers—all of them—were waiting at the end of this flight, and if he didn't stop them, Zemo would use them to destroy everything. Katie wouldn't want that. All the same, Steve's hands tightened imperceptibly on the controls before he answered. "We finish the mission," he breathed. "And then we get my sister."

~8~8~

I don't know how long we flew before finally touching down. The cage shuddered, and I huddled further into my corner of the box, trembling. It had grown steadily colder as the flight wore on, and I was shivering madly; I could see the thick cloud of my breath in the air each time I exhaled.

The door creaked open, and soldiers dragged me out of the cage and onto the landing pad. Rain and seawater lashed my skin, soaking me in seconds, and I was blinded by the water as I was marched inside. I did exactly as I was told, not willing to risk any harm to my baby.

The king stood nearby, watching the proceedings with a scowl on his face. Since Ross at least had the decency to not want America to be at war—even if the war did happen to take place against such a small country as Wakanda—he cooperated, doing as T'Challa said and not harming me.

I was searched, but the comms, which hadn't worked in hours, wasn't found or taken away. I was given a set of blue clothing similar to scrubs to wear, and I hastily changed into them, shivering in the cold air. My wet hair felt like ice against my bare skin, and cold water dripped down my back. Once I changed, the men placed me in a straightjacket, tightening it to the point that it was difficult to breathe, and set a collar around my neck.

"It's a tracker," Ross told T'Challa.

I knew better. I could feel the probes pressing into the delicate skin of my throat—the thought of taking one step out of line, and the collar would fry me—and my baby. "T'Challa—" I breathed.

His eyes snapped to me, then dropped to the collar—he seized Ross by the collar, speaking angrily with him. A minute later he released him. T'Challa gave Ross a scathing look and then crossed to me.

"I can do nothing more," he informed me, his low voice almost a growl. The regret on his face was enough to make me realize that he was by now wishing that he had hidden me or let me go free. He was beginning to realize that his desire for vengeance had put innocents in danger. "Don't do anything that would make them hurt you."

"You don't understand," I glanced behind him at the others, and flashes of memory—all the lives I'd taken and all the people I'd hurt, and later, all the things I'd done for good—swirled together. Even if I had done nothing at all, even if I'd never killed anyone, I still would be a target because of the experimentation I'd experienced. "I already have. My history is enough for them to lost no sleep over murdering me where I stand."

The king was escorted out before he could say anything more, and I was half-led, half-dragged down to the cells. The walls were concrete, as was the floor, which was already smooth and now was slick with water. I padded along, my bare feet freezing against the damp ground. I slipped once, falling onto my side, and was roughly pulled to my feet again. One of the men escorting me backhanded me across the face so hard I saw stars. I stumbled back shaking, and let the man continue to lead me forward—I was extra careful about where I stepped after that.

I was put in a cell with one glass wall covered by metal bars, and I sat obediently on the thin pallet provided, unwilling to give anyone a chance to hurt either me or my child. My bare feet hung off the edge of the 'bed'—the shelf that jutted out from the wall—and froze against the cold floor.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, trying to breathe, to calm down, to remember a better time when I was free and wasn't trying to fight for my life. It was nearly impossible to find a memory that fit that description.

 _I pounded against the door, not caring that it was the middle of the night. It was a few moments before a lock turned and the door opened, revealing a, half-asleep James standing in the doorway._

 _"_ _Katie?" he blinked blearily, waking up a little. "What're you—" he looked around at the clock that sat just inside the door and then frowned at me. "What're you doing here?"_

 _"_ _They're going to take me away," I choked out. My shaking hands rose to swipe across my cheeks and wipe the tears from my skin. "They—they're going to take me away—James, don't let them take me away, please—"_

 _"_ _Hey, hey, calm down—come inside." He stepped back and let me in before closing the door softly behind me and following me to the kitchen. He got to work heating some water, then turned to me. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen in my bare feet—I had run all the way here barefoot, not bothering to grab shoes on my way out the window._

 _James sat me down at his table, in one of the mismatched chairs that crowded nearby around it. He disappeared for a couple minutes and emerged from his room with a jacket, which he hastily pulled on over his sleep shirt, and a knit blanket. He passed the blanket to me as he went back to the stove to pull off the kettle, which had started to whistle loudly. I wiped my eyes with the edge of the fading blanket and accepted the cup of tea that James offered. He sat down across from me, frowning at a scratch in the tabletop that had caused the price of the furniture to me marked down considerably when he bought it._

 _"_ _What happened?" he asked, pushing a can of sugar towards me. I declined, to his surprise, and took a large gulp of the scalding, currently weak tea. I choked, and James passed me a hand towel. "Katie."_

 _"_ _They came to our house," I admitted, swallowing painfully. My burned tongue felt odd against the roof of my mouth. "And t-told Steve that it wasn't g-good for him to take care of me anymore. They said that they were g-going to c-come for me in the m-m-morning, and he—he didn't fight for me, he—" I took a deep breath. "He just escorted them out, and—"_

 _"_ _And that's when you climbed out the window and came here," James finished._

 _I nodded. He knew I'd gone out the window—the hem of my dress was torn and there were splinters in my hand from where it had dug into the old windowsill._

 _"_ _Does Steve… no, of course he doesn't." James sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "You need to talk to him."_

 _"_ _I can't. James, please, don't make me go back there. I can't go back there." My grip on the mug tightened as I stared at my friend with wide eyes. I was terrified. "He—" I hated myself for saying it. "He's not strong enough to stop them from taking me." Tears spilled over onto my cheeks._

 _"_ _And you think that I am?" James sat forward in his chair, setting his mug on the counter. "Katie, I may be_ physically _stronger than you brother, but he is in no way_ weaker _than I am, do you understand?"_

 _I nodded._

 _"_ _If they come knocking on my door, what do you think will happen?" he continued, laughing a bit at the lunacy of what he was suggesting. "Do you think that I'll be able to-to throw a-a-a- few_ punches _and knock them all out? Do you?"_

 _He rubbed his hands across his face and then brought them together in front of him to form a steeple._

 _"_ _I love you, Katie," he told me, "but it is your_ brother _that has the best chance of protecting you. If you want to stay with him, show him. If you think he can protect you, prove it. Let him protect you. Don't run into danger or do something stupid knowing that he might not get to you in time." He sighed. "Until you're married—and that will be a long, long time from now," he added protectively, making me crack a smile, "it's your brother whose job it is to protect you. Got it?"_

 _I nodded, sipping the strong, now lukewarm, tea._

 _"_ _Once you're married, it'll be your husband's job, but—speaking as an older brother—we never stop protecting our little sisters. You'll always have someone to watch your back." James stood, stretching, and offered me a hand. "C'mon," he said, grinning. "Let's get you home."_

Someone started to scream. I sat bolt upright and stood quickly, trying to see through the glass and bars what was happening. Clint, who was in the cell across from mine, was throwing himself against the wall and shouting himself hoarse.

A small scream tore from my throat. Wanda was the only other woman on our team besides myself. I stumbled backwards and sank down to the floor in my corner, my knees pulled to my chest, covering my stomach. They were hurting her. They were torturing her. Why?

I couldn't do anything, not without putting my baby at risk. I couldn't even cover my ears, not with my arms twisted and bound as they were. I couldn't escape it, couldn't escape her—

"Stop it," I whispered, unable to do anything more. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I pushed closer to the wall, pressing as far into the small corner as I could, shaking with suppressed sobs. Wanda eventually stopped screaming, and chilling silence filled the cell block instead.

"Katie?"

"Sam?" I could hear him through the vent next to my elbow.

He groaned in pain. "Where are we?"

"Ross's prison." I looked around at the bars, the glass, the strangely elaborate prison uniforms.

"Why?"

"We lost the battle," I said bitterly, rubbing my damp cheek against my knee to get the tears off.

"I figured that," came his dry reply. "I meant, why are you here?"

"I didn't have time to escape, not—" I stopped speaking abruptly. Ross couldn't know about my condition. If he knew I was pregnant, the next thing that happened would be that I would no longer have either a baby or a husband—or both.

"Why didn't you stay with Bucky and Steve?" he paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was sharp and angry. "Did they _leave you?_ "

My heart heart at his words, and I looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, composing myself. _I want James._ "What happened to you?" I asked instead, craning to peer down at the vent. "Why are you here?"

"Vision busted Rhodey's suit. He fell out of the sky."

Memories of Sam's partner, of Riley, flashed to the forefront of my mind. "Oh, Sam—"

"Let's not talk about it." His tone conveyed that that particular conversation was over. "We need to get you out of here."

"There's no way."

"Katie… I heard something from Clint. A reason why you didn't fight back like you could've." He stopped, waiting, but I said nothing. "Do you want to confirm or deny what I heard?"

"I trust your discretion, Sam. But I can't tell you." I leaned my head back against the wall, exhausted. The chill from the ground seemed through my thin clothing, freezing my skin. I couldn't say anything, but he knew the answer.

"He's going to come for you, Katie," Sam told me. "He's going to get you out of here."

"I hope he doesn't come," I whispered. A tear slipped from my damp lashes and landed with a soft _plop_ on the ground. I curled tighter in on myself, forming a cocoon around my baby. I was barely showing—no one who hadn't been studying me for months would have noticed the little baby bump that had only recently started to show.


	13. Chapter 13

_"_ _Steve."_

 _James was right behind me, one hand on my shoulder and the other on the doorknob. My older brother was asleep at the kitchen table, his cheek against the wood. His eyes were puffy, but his cheeks weren't damp—he hadn't been crying, but he'd been close._

 _James passed me by, brushing me gently to the side so he could shake my brother awake. "Steve, wake up."_

 _He took a sudden intake of breath and sat up, looking around wildly and blinking the sleep from his bleary blue eyes. "Katie—?"_

 _James kept his hand clamped firmly on Steve's shoulder. "It's alright, I've got her." Steve's eyes fastened on me. "She's here, she's home."_

 _James left Steve sitting at the table and strode over to me, standing with his back to Steve. "D'you want me to stay?" he asked me softly, so Steve couldn't hear._

 _"_ _No, thank you," I whispered, licking my chapped lips. My mouth had gone suddenly dry. What did I say to Steve? I'd run away, left him by himself alone in our apartment… "I need to talk to him alone."_

 _James nodded, hugged me briefly, and then left, shutting the door softly behind him. Steve hadn't moved. I took the tiniest step forward, biting my bottom lip. "S-Steve?"_

 _He looked down at the table, clenching his jaw. His hand curled into a fist, then relaxed. "I know why you left."_

 _"_ _Steve—"_

 _He cut me off. "Stop, Katherine, just—just let me say this."_

 _I closed my mouth as my eyes filled with tears, then nodded._

 _My brother took a deep breath, then ducked his head. "I know why you left," he repeated. "And I know—I know why you went to see Bucky." He shrugged. "Bucky—he… he can protect you. Physically, I mean. He's strong, tall…" he looked down at his feet and seemed to shrink. "I'm…_ not _. I can't protect you the way you want to be protected. I'm not strong enough."_

 _"_ _Ste—" his name broke on my lips, which quivered as tears ran down my cheeks. My own words to James were being repeated back to me, and they were breaking my heart._

 _He shook his head. "I'm gonna talk to Bucky's parents. Maybe… maybe they can take you in." My jaw dropped, and he must have read the shock and horror on my face, because he started speaking more quickly. "The—the system won't let you stay with me, Katie. They don't think I can take care of you, and maybe they're right—I couldn't even stop you from leaving tonight. You could live with the Barnes—grow up with Rebecca. Bucky and Becca could be like your siblings."_

 _"_ _Do—" I licked my lips. Steve didn't want me. He wanted to send me away. He didn't even bother fighting the people who came to our house because he had already made up his mind. "Do you want that?"_

 _"_ _I want you to be happy."_

 _"_ _Then don't send me away. I—I went to see J-James because I didn't know w-what to d-do." I wrapped my arms around my middle, trembling._

 _"_ _You left."_

 _"_ _B-because I was_ scared! _I was listening, Steve—you didn't correct them on anything, you didn't fight for me—I went to James because I didn't know what else to do!"_

 _He shook his head minutely, staring at his hands, fingers spread against the tabletop. "You'll be safe with him."_

 _I shook my head, moving closer, wanting to make him look at me, make him understand— "I_ want _to be with you, Steve! You're—you're my brother, you're the only person I have left—Dad died when I was a baby, M-Mom died only a y-year ago—" I was sobbing, still clutching the blanket James had given me at his apartment to keep me warm. "Don't send me away, please. P-please, I'll d-do a-anything, just don't send me away!"_

 _~8~8~_

"Katie. Katie, wake up."

A little moan of pain escaped my lips, and I curled into a tighter ball. I had retreated under the bed at some point in the previous hours in an attempt to keep myself and my baby safe—Ross wanted to run some tests and find out how I'd lived so long and retained my youth and agility. I'd refused, and he'd shocked me—not with a voltage high enough to harm my baby, I prayed, but enough to stun me… and I would only hope that someone got me out of this prison before his tests either revealed that I was pregnant or terminated the pregnancy completely.

I heard my name spoken in a harsh whisper. "Barnes!"

My eyes flew open, and I immediately squinted against the harsh lights that shone overhead. Day and night, the bright lights stayed on, which was maddening in and of itself. It was a form of sensory deprivation, something I was more than familiar with. There had been times when I had been left alone in a windowless stone cell, cold and damp, with no food or water or way to tell time. The only light had been a flickering, swaying bulb that made my shadow dance against the walls, and it along with the drugs that they gave me nearly drove me mad. It was all a part of their trying to brainwash me.

All that was only slightly more maddening than the sight of the man who was standing just outside the glass wall of my cell. Despite my initial anger, I was not as angry now as I had been several days before when I had spoken to him after my husband's capture. Tony Stark had cost me more than I cared to remember, but I had decided to forgive him for trying to kill me, for costing me so much—I suspected that the stress of hating people would be bad for my baby.

At the moment, I would accept any help I could get—no matter where it came from. I wanted to get back to my husband, get my baby back to its father. "Tony?" I scooted out from under the bed and sat up with some difficulty, rolling halfway onto my side to maneuver around the straightjacket that was pressing my arms uncomfortably against my chest. The unshaven man was watching me with no small degree of guilt, and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he stood watching me—his eyes flickered to and away from me as I rose, staring at him.

"I have to make this quick, Katie—" he cleared his throat—his voice was shaking. "Your husband's innocent. I know that, now. I—" He paused, glanced down at his watch, and then looked back up at me. His tone changed abruptly, shifting from remorseful to authoritative, and he shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "I need you to come with me: I'm transferring you to the compound where you'll be kept until your trial next week."

I didn't understand. I shook my head, bewildered. If I had been able to eat in the last couple days, I might have been able to understand, but as it was, I couldn't figure out what was going on. The flashbacks from my time with Hydra were nearly overwhelming, and they only muddled my thoughts further. "Tony, what—?"

Something behind me creaked, and I whirled around, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. I fell back, and my shoulder struck the sharp corner of the bed. I cried out, scrambling back, trying to move as far away from the soldiers and the men in lab coats as possible.

 _"_ _Bring the subject in by whatever means necessary."_

 _I stared at the men before me, unmoving. My legs and arms were bent in unnatural positions, unmoved from the last time I had fallen. My fingernails, pressed and concealed against my palms, had been sharpened against the stone. My wings rubbed painfully against the rough wall behind me, and the pain helped me to focus. My mind was clearer than it had been in decades._

 _Several men approached, and the first bent to grab my wrists. His jugular was cut before he could touch me. The second man fumbled for his gun while a third wrapped his arm around my neck. I screamed, tearing my nails into the man's arm and drawing blood, which stained his partner's white coat. His parter finally succeeded in drawing his weapon while a fourth man helped his fellow soldier to subdue me. They forced me to my knees, twisting my arms behind my back, pinning my wings beneath them—trying to move my wings would dislocate my shoulders. The barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head._

 _"_ _You have your orders," one of the men stated, staring distastefully down at the body of his colleague. "We don't need her anymore. Faulty hardware—we've already made enough soldiers to replace her."_

 _His parter behind me chuckled, and his boot pressed against my ankle—I felt the bone strain as he slowly increased the pressure. Before he could break the bone or pull the trigger, his partner's head suddenly twisted to one side, and he collapsed on the ground. A man stood behind him, masked and clothed in dark leather. One of the men subduing me let go to apprehend the other man, and the one who held the gun to my head stamped down against my leg, breaking my ankle. I screamed, lurching backwards as pain exploded in my head, and the dark assassin snapped the man's neck._

 _"_ _Come on." He picked me up and carried me from the cell. I didn't fight—I didn't know why, but I trusted him. His metal arm braced my back and wings. "Don't make a sound. It's going to be okay, I promise. It's going to be okay."_

I jerked back to reality as one of the men grabbed me around the waist, pulling my to my feet, and started to drag me from the room. "I can walk!" I yelled, twisting out of the man's grip. The shock that came next sent me to my knees, and I sobbed as the men dragged me forward. _I want James. I want James, I want James, I want James—Why couldn't he come swooping in like last time—like he always had—why couldn't he save me?_ My eyes burned with tears.

I heard Tony's voice fading away behind me as panic swelled like a balloon in my chest. "Excellent. Gents, if you'll meet me upstairs…"

The soldiers led me forward, practically dragging me—I was too terrified, too numb, to do anything. I was afraid to walk—if I moved to slowly, or too quickly, they might hurt me—or my baby.

Ross was waiting for me upstairs, and Tony was talking to him. "She wasn't a part of the Sokovia accords," he was saying, gesturing furiously. "She's not even a Gifted individual. All the government will see is you capturing am innocent, human woman and holding her in a cell—and _torturing_ her—without giving her rights or a lawyer."

"Do you know who this is?" Ross asked, glancing over at me. "Katherine Rogers Barnes, sister of Steve Rogers, a wanted man, and wife of James Buchanan Barnes, a wanted assassin. Tell me, Mr. Stark—what government agency on earth will tell me that I was in the wrong for keeping her in custody as an accessory to murder."

"Every damn one, and you know it. I've got friends in high places, Ross." The secretary's face twisted as though he'd just swallowed a lemon. "Mrs. Barnes," Tony stretched out his hand. One of the soldiers glanced at Ross, who nodded, and they removed the collar. The instant the barbs were pulled from my skin, I rushed into Tony's arms, and he caught me, holding me close. His fingers dug protectively into my back. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face into his jacket as I shook my head. "If there is so much as a scratch on this woman, I'm going to throw your asses in jail," he snarled at the men who had brought be here. "I'll be seeing you." He started leading me away, steering towards his plane. "Move," he breathed. I walked faster, shaking so badly I could barely function.

"Stark! Did he give you anything on Rogers?" Ross called after Tony.

"No, he told me to go to hell," Tony called back, pushing me gently to walk even faster. "I'm going back to the compound instead. But, you can call me anytime. I'll put you on hold, I like to watch the line blink."

As soon as we were settled, Tony untied the straightjacket and had his AI examine me. He passed me a change of clothes. "I got these out of your room at the compound," he told me. "You're not too far along, so they should still fit just fine. Did they hurt you?"

"Shock collar." I took a shaky breath and pressed my fingers against my eyes. "Did they hurt my baby?" I whispered, looking to his AI, a female this time.

"Subject is sixteen weeks along," the AI informed me.

"This is Friday," Tony added. "She's new."

"This means that you are several weeks into your second trimester," Friday stated. "Your baby is healthy, so far as I can tell. Because of your healing factor, which your child may or may not inherit, neither you nor your child will suffer any future ill effects from your time in Secretary Ross's custody. You should go see a doctor as soon as possible, though, just to be sure."

I sagged in relief, almost bursting into tears again. Tony looked distinctively relieved, and he nodded, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Friday. Katie, I'm dropping you off somewhere safe before I leave."

"Y-y-you—" I swallowed, just then realizing how badly I was shaking. Tony turned away to give me some privacy as I changed out of the damp scrubs and into warmer clothes. "Y-you're not taking me with you?"

"It's not safe under _normal_ circumstances." He shook his head. "You're in your second trimester, you're _showing_ —your brother would _kill me—_ "

"I _am_ farther along than I thought I was," I murmured. "But that doesn't matter. I have to get to them."

" _Them_." He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. "You want me to bring the pregnant wife and sister of the deadliest assassin and well-renowned war hero in history into a known war zone? Have you lost your mind, woman?"

"If you don't get to Siberia before Zemo does," I snarled, "then you will have multiple assassins being set loose to destroy the world as you know it. Now get me to my husband, _now!_ "

He stared out the window, muttering expletives under his breath, and I was suddenly reminded of Howard. How I missed him. There was a time when Tony had thought I was responsible for his parents' deaths. Had he ever found out who their murderer was? I had my suspicions, of course, because of Zola's video, but they had never been confirmed. "Tony."

"Fine. Get your jacket on, it's cold out." He lowered his head, scratching the back of his neck. "Congratulations, by the way. On your marriage, and the baby."

I relaxed. "Thank you, Tony. And thank you for saving me. I thought they were going to—" I swallowed, my throat burning. I pressed a hand to my belly—I could tell the difference, I could see that I was showing more than I had even two weeks before—if the guards had figured it out, if they'd tried to hurt my baby— "I thought they were going to hurt my baby." I sank down, clothes on, and pressed my hands to my mouth. My baby. My sweet baby.

"Katie, I promise you, I had no idea you were pregnant."

I was silent. All the reasons why I had left the Avengers, left my brother, came back to me. Tony tried to kill me. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been so weak for the final battle with Ultron. I would have been able to get Pietro out of the way without getting hurt. I'd still have my wings. I'd have been able to help my husband escape. Now I was stuck on the ground like every other human in the world.

Tony stumbled over his words. "I never would have—I didn't mean—"

"You tried to kill me."

His stammering broke off, and he stared at the ground, remorse written all over his face. "I'm so sorry."

"If I hadn't been so weak, I'd be flying right now. I wouldn't have gotten captured by Ross." I took a deep breath, shuddering. "But you saved me, and you saved my child. Thank you."

"I owe you, Katie," he breathed. "I… I'll always be sorry for what I've done." He cleared his throat. "Now come on. I'm going to show you something, and I need you to remember how to use it." He pulled out Sam's wings.

"Sam—he told me how to use these before I left." I looked up. "How did you—?"

"Ross's people confiscated them, I took them back. Put them on quickly—we're not taking the plane in case we're being tracked; Simba is still out for blood, and I don't fancy getting caught."

I fastened the wings around my torso, securing them tightly, and pulled the goggles over my eyes. Tony handed me gloves. "It's cold and wet out there," he informed me. "Get into the clouds as soon as possible," he informed me. "If someone is tracking us, I'd rather them not be for long."

I reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. "Tony." I waited until he looked me in the eye, then smiled sadly. "I forgive you."


	14. Chapter 14

_"_ _This isn't your choice, Katherine."_

 _"_ _Why not?" It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears. "It's my life, my family—you're my brother, Steve! I want to be with you!"_

 _Steve went off, shouting furiously. "I can't protect you, I can't provide for you, I can't help you if you get into trouble! Look at me, Katie!"_

 _"_ _I_ am _looking!" I yelled back. "You can't send me away!"_

 _"_ _I want you to grow up with a family," he argued. "A real family, a mom and a dad and—"_

 _"_ _And I had that!" I was screaming now, my voice growing shriller every second. How could he even consider sending me away? Sending me to another family, to an orphanage. "I had you and Mom—I'm not a baby, I can't just forget about you and start over! I wouldn't even get adopted, I'm too old, I'd get sent to an orphanage—Steve—" my voice cracked, and I tugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I knew what happened in orphanages. I know what happened to the girls who aged out without getting adopted. "Stevie, you know what would happen. Y-you know what would happen to me." He paled, and his grip on the tabletop tightened. "Don't do this, please. I'm your sister."_

 _My words regarding the orphanage seemed to shake him._

 _"_ _My dad's a lawyer."_

 _I spun around to see James standing in the hallway, his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his pants. He looked troubled and horrified, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing._

 _"_ _I heard you two yelling," he continued, shifting. "On my way home. I came back: the door was unlocked." He turned his attention to my brother. "Steve. You can't send Katie away."_

 _"_ _I can't take care of her."_

 _"_ _You're damn right: you can't take care of her if you send her away! You can't take care of her if you leave her to fend for herself. Steve, I would do anything for Rebecca, and if something happened to our parents… staying together and keeping her safe would be my highest priority."_

 _"_ _You—I'm not you, Buck!" Steve finally rose to his feet. "You've got credentials, money, strength—I have nothing and nobody!"_

 _"_ _You have_ her! _" James pointed straight at me, his expression twisting into something I had never seen before. "You are the only person she has left, and until she is married, it is your job to protect her and keep her safe!"_

~8~8~

"You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" Steve asked, glancing over at Bucky with a small smile.

Bucky gave a weak smile in return. He'd remembered the trip about three months ago, while walking around Bucharest with his wife. "Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?"

"You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for my sister," Steve shook his head, chuckling.

Bucky glanced at his friend. "Did I win?"

"No. She spent a good half hour laughing, trying to get you to give up, but you wouldn't hear it. Then she spent the whole ride home teasing you about it."

"How old were we back then?" Bucky asked, frowning slightly as he examined the stark white landscape that surrounded them. It was bleak and cold and reminded him of too many horrible things—this was the last place he wanted to be. He wanted to be with his wife and child.

Steve glanced over at his friend with a knowing look in his eyes. "Katie was seventeen."

"So I was twenty-three?" Bucky asked. Steve nodded, and his friend chuckled. "I've gotten old."

Steve reached out and clasped his friend's shoulder, trying to hide the pain and growing panic that grew worse with every second—the thought that his sister was hurt, and pregnant, and he could do nothing to help her. "We're going to get her back, Buck."

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to fight against the growing pain and panic in his chest. "I know."

~8~8~

"Stay hidden until I know it's clear," Tony ordered, moving along ahead of me in full Iron Man gear. I didn't have Sam's uniform on anymore—it was too heavy and bulky for me to carry, especially in my condition. Also, it was useless here—there was no way to fly in such close quarters. "They see you first, they're not going to listen."

"You shot Sam, tried to kill my husband, and have opposed my brother at every turn of this chase," I snapped back, frowning at the man beside me. "Tell me again why you think they'll listen to you?"

"Because I'm not the hormonal, pregnant sister and wife of the two deadliest and most protective men in history who _isn't supposed to be here,_ " Tony griped, turned his head so that light shone on me, pouring eerily from the eyes of his mask.

We reached an elevator shaft, and Tony held me tightly as he flew down, making sure I didn't fall. His landing was loud, and the resounding crash echoed through the supposedly abandoned compound. Tony pushed open the door in front of us, and the rusty hinges scraped gratingly together as the door creaked open.

"Stay hidden, Katie," Tony instructed, leaning forward and bracing himself against the doors. I obeyed for once, standing out of sight with my back against the wall as Tony pried the doors apart. They settled with a loud bump, and Tony stopped, then stepped inside the room.

"You seem a little defensive," Tony called.

"It's been a long day," Steve retorted, sounding confused—it was no wonder, after how Tony had been acting, that my brother was more than a little cautious.

"At ease, soldier. I'm not currently after you," Tony turned his attention to James, apparently, and I tensed. If Tony tried to hurt him—

"Then why are you here?" Steve demanded, cutting him off.

"Could be your story's not so crazy. Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here, I like to keep it that way." There was a clank of metal on stone—I glanced around to see that he had leaned against the wall. "Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself."

My brother's response was humorous. "Well, that sounds like a lot of paper work."

Tony scoffed.

My brother's voice softened. "It's good to see you, Tony."

"You too, Cap." A moment later Tony spoke again. "Manchurian candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here, you can drop…"

There was a gap of a few seconds during which I held my breath, waiting for something to happen—and then my husband spoke. "Where's my wife?"

Steve spoke a moment later. "Tony?"

For once, Tony Stark seemed to be at a loss for words. "Well—you see, I—"

I heard James walking down the stairs, heard his slightly uneven gait, thrown off by the extra weight of his metal arm. "Where. Is. My. Wife." My husband pronounced each word with absolute clarity, and I stepped out from behind the wall, unable to hold back anymore.

The tension left my body at the sight of him. "I'm here, James." My eyes filled with tears, and my voice cracked. "James, I'm here!"

He ran forward, dropping his gun, and caught my up in his arms, kissing the top of my hair and my forehead and my lips and looking me over, checking for bruises or cuts. "Thank God. Oh, God. You're alive. You're alright." He kissed me desperately, lips pressed against mine, and I could taste the saltiness of his tears in my mouth. He finally pulled away, feverishly brushing his fingers against my cheeks, brushing my hair back behind my ears. He rested his hand on my stomach gently, looking at it and then at me, looking more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him—he looked like a child. "Is she alright?" he whispered.

"I think so," I murmured. He sighed in relief and sagged against me, pressing his forehead to mine. He kissed my again, and his stubble tickled my cheeks, making me smile.

"She?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer—it was only then that he seemed to realize that I was _here_ , in Siberia, with him and several assassins I no longer had the strength to fight.

"What are you doing here?" he sounded absolutely terrified, almost angry. He looked up and around at Tony. "Why the hell would you bring her here?!"

"I made him take me here, James. James, look at me." I pressed my hand to his cheek, turning his face so that he would look me in the eye. "I'm not leaving you. These are your demons just as much as they are mine. We'll face them together."

"I got you out of here, remember?" James's voice was tortured, and he closed his eyes tight. "I got you out. I never wanted you to come back, especially not for me."

"I'm here now," I whispered. "I'm not leaving without you. Nothing is going to happen to me or to our child, I promise."

"Katie. Bucky's right, you shouldn't be here." Steve stepped up and hugged me tightly once James let go of me. The instant my brother released me, James took my hand in his.

"You want me to what? Go stand outside?" I asked incredulously, crossing my arms over my chest, resting them on top of my stomach. I saw both men's gazes drop to my stomach before rising to rest on my face. "Hyperthermia isn't good for the baby. No, Steve, I'm staying here."

The two men glanced at each other, exasperated, and then glared at Tony. Steve finally shook his head. He knew better than to waste more time arguing, and he finally gave up. "Fine. Let's go."

We kept walking, moving past cells with dented frames and shattered glass. I tried to keep from looking around too much—I could almost hear the ghosts screaming for my attention. Tony led the way, using the light from his suit as a guide. James still hadn't let go of my hand. "I got heat signatures," Tony announced.

"How many?" Steve asked. I examined the walls and felt goosebumps crawl up my arms. I knew this place. Marks on the wall—as though someone had dug their fingernails into the stone. Someone. Me. I shuddered, and James's grip tightened.

"Uh, one." Tony sounded confused, as well he should—there were supposed to be five people on Hydra's kill squad, not one—unless they had already been woken up and sent away? Suddenly standing outside didn't seem like such a horrible idea.

We entered a cavernous room with a roof so high, the ceiling was cloaked in shadows, hidden from view. Enormous cylindrical containers lined the walls—seven in all, though only five were in use. I squeezed my husband's hand tightly as echoes of screams long since ignored seemed to reverberate through the years, replacing the eerie silence that filled the room. The containers suddenly switched on, glowing with yellow light, and the poor illumination revealed a familiar chair positioned in the center of the room. A scream rose in my throat, and I gasped for breath as my chest tightened, as my heart stopped beating for a couple seconds.

A soft voice came on over the speakers, crackling with static. "If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep." I stepped closer to the lit containers—they were meant to hold the subject in a frozen sleep until they were ready to be awoken for a mission. Blood sprayed the glass, droplets frozen there. Each and every one of the soldiers had been shot between the eyes, murdered in their sleep. "Did you really think I wanted more of you?"

"I remember this," I heard myself say. The two empty chambers—one of them in particular seemed to repel me. Bile burned the back of my throat as the air grew thinner.

My husband tightened his grip on his gun at the sight of the dead soldiers. "What the hell?"

The soft voice continued to speak. "I'm grateful to them though; they brought you here."

A light in the back of the room switched on. Without warning, my brother threw his shield towards the back of the room—now I could see a small window, behind which a man sat, watching us. The shield hit the glass and flew back to Steve, doing nothing. "Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-One Hundred rockets."

"I'm betting I can beat that," Tony called, glaring darkly at the man. Zemo. The one who threatened to shoot my baby, the one who tried to reset me. Fear made my heart jump into my throat.

"James." I swallowed, shaking, and squeezed his hand. "James, he knows my words—he knows them."

"If you hear anything resembling them, run," he ordered, his expression hardening as he glanced at the chair and at our cells and then back at me. "You're not going back. They're not getting you."

Zemo continued his discussion with Stark, sounding almost conversational, relaxed, as though he had no where else in the world he'd rather be. "Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came."

"You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?" Steve barked, tightening his grip on his shield. He walked over to Zemo, and the rest of us followed behind him, moving slower.

"I thought about nothing else for over a year." Steve strode closer to Zemo's cage, moving until he stood directly in front of the glass. "I studied you, followed you. But now that you are standing here, I just realized… There's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw."

"His eyes are completely blue," I called, frowning a bit at how anticlimactic the statement was—and how unsettling. This man frightened me in a way that I hadn't been frightened in a long time. Before, people had orders. Agendas. This man wasn't desperate—he had nothing to lose—and that made him dangerous.

"You're Sokovian," Steve noticed, ignoring my interruption. "Is that what this is about?"

The man shook his head, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I'm here because I made a promise."

My lips parted. A promise. No one made promises like this unless something had gone horribly wrong—and no one kept them unless the one to whom they had sworn was dead.

Steve nodded, his lips parting, finally understanding. James and I moved until we were only a few yards away, Tony right beside us. An ancient VCR was set up nearby, and I recognized the date on the tape, but couldn't place it. "You lost someone."

The man's expression twisted, contorting into a look of so much pain that it hurt me to see it. My hand went to my stomach, instinctively trying to shield my baby from his pain. He clicked his tongue. "I lost _everyone_. And so will you."

It hit me too late. December 16, 1991. A week after James helped me escape from Hydra, a few days after Howard sent me to Canada to hide from the world.

"Oh, God," I whispered, staring in horror at the television that no one else seemed to have noticed yet. I knew that date. Howard died on that day. Someone had to have killed him, Zola said so—and it wasn't me.

"An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again," Zemo continued. I finally understood his plan—and how genius and deadly a plan it was. The video started playing. "But one which crumples from within… that's dead. Forever."

"Zemo!" I screamed, hysteric. I felt James jump beside me, startled by my sudden outburst. "You said you lost someone?! I'm a wife," I continued. "A mother! I'm pregnant!"

He paused.

"Don't do this," I whispered. "Don't do this."

Zemo's dark gaze met mine. "I am truly sorry," he spoke softly, then disappeared.

"I know that road," Tony whispered, staring blankly at the screen. The video was old, filmed at night, and the images were blurred, but there was no mistaking the dirt road that occupied the majority of the screen.

A date rested in the bottom left corner of the screen—PM 7:01. DEC. 16 1991.

Tony spoke, his voice terrified. "What is this?!"

On screen, a car wrecked, slamming at high velocity into a tree. James was shaking—he either had never remembered this or had remembered and not told me. I couldn't look away—I could hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears. A man with white hair managed to crawl out of the car, dragging himself along the ground. My blood ran cold.

"Help my wife. Please. Help." Another man, this one clothed all in black and achingly familiar, dragged him back, setting him against the car and holding him straight by grasping a handful of the man's hair.

Howard caught sight of the man's face, and his own expression changed, going slack. The Winter Soldier lowered his arm, staring at him, and I saw his expression change slightly. "Sergeant Barnes."

"Howard!"

Tony looked up, looking straight at my husband as Maria Stark cried out in desperation for her own.

The Winter Soldier struck the man's face twice—I closed my eyes.

 _"_ _Howard!"_

When I opened my eyes, Howard's body was in the car, his head leaning against the steering wheel. He was dead.

Tears streamed down my face.

The Winter Soldier moved to Maria's side of the car, reaching his metal arm inside and wrapping his fingers around her throat. She choked. Her cries stopped a moment later. He walked around to the other side of the car, looked straight at the camera, giving the viewer a perfect look at his face. The next instant he took aim at the camera and fired. There was no mistaking the identity of the man who had murdered Tony's parents—not to Tony. He wouldn't see the Winter Soldier. He would see my husband.

"No. Tony!" Steve reached out and held Tony back as the man lunged at us, gripping his arm tightly. I had to get James out of there before my child became an orphan.

James had tears in his eyes, and he stared down at me, lost, seemingly deaf to my pleas. "You have to get out of here." I was crying. I hadn't ever found out, not for certain—but I think, deep down, I had known the truth about what had happened. I knew the moment I found out that James had helped me escape that Hydra would have done something horrible to punish him, and they had. I just hadn't want to believe that this was it. I didn't hate him for it, I wasn't angry with him. I was heartbroken for him. But it wasn't his fault, it had never been his fault, just as it had never been mine, not really. Not unless I had been in control instead of the Angel.

"Did you know?" Tony whispered.

Steve swallowed. "I didn't know it was him."

Tony shook his head. "Don't bullshit me, Rogers! _Did you know?"_

Steve took a breath. "Yes."

Tony recoiled, tearing his arm from my brother's grip, and then turned and looked at me, and I pushed myself between him and James. "What about you, huh?" His voice broke. "You knew, didn't you?" He lost control for a second. _"Didn't you?!"_

I tried to speak but couldn't. My heart was in my throat, and my hands were behind me, one holding tightly to James's wrist and the other pressing against his chest, trying to shield him from Tony's wrath.

"All that crap about you forgiving me—he killed my parents!" Tony screamed. "You both should have been begging _my_ forgiveness, after what he did—after what _you did—_ " A look of realization crossed his face. "December ninth, nineteen ninety-one, my father left because a friend needed him. He set her up in an old cabin of ours. A week later, he was dead—that was _you._ That was you, wasn't it? Wasn't it?! He was killed because of _you!_ "

"I don't know," I rasped. Those memories, or rather, the fragments that remained, were all but lost. They'd been erased so many times… "I don't know. I can't remember, I don't—"

"Stop lying to me!"

 _"_ _I'm not!_ " My voice shook. "I'm not. I swear, I'm not. Tony, please." My voice was barely a whisper. "Please."

He looked away, staring at the blank screen, nodding a little, his face twisting with different emotions as his world collapsed around him. I felt the change in him a second before he acted, saw the way his eyes flickered to the side—my husband pulled his arm from my grip and shoved me away from him, and a deafening explosion filled the room, sending me to the ground.


	15. Chapter 15

_"_ _Who are you?"_

 _Something nagged at me, an itch in the very back of my mind, a name and a face that filled my cheeks with warmth and my stomach with butterflies. I didn't understand. It seemed… familiar. It felt like home. The problem was that I had no memories of a home, or even being safe—and yet being here, cradled in this man's arms, made me feel safer and more at home than I could remember having ever felt in all my long years._

 _"_ _A friend," the man breathed. He paused and peeked out behind a wall, and his grip on me tightened protectively. My wings were draped over the back of his right arm, the one that was made of flesh and bone, and his hand was wrapped securely around my side. His metal arm supported my legs, positioned so that he could remove it and use it as a weapon if necessary without dropping me._

 _The word was foreign, but instead of questioning the meaning, I found myself answering in this way instead. "I don't have any friends." The words came for a very distant part of my mind, perhaps some part that wasn't drowsy from the drugs that flowed through my system. My body fought to overcome them, but they were too strong—it wouldn't be long before I was unconscious. A small part of me recoiled against the thought._

 _He looked down at me, and I caught sight of his face for the first time. Sunken cheeks were framed by long, tangled hair. Dark makeup was smeared messily beneath the man's blue eyes, gathering in the tiny folds of skin that should have been clear. I knew they should be clear._

 _I had a sudden memory of the same man, clean shaven, hair trimmed and neat, standing tall in a soldier's uniform. Not the uniform of the Winter Soldier, all black leather and restrictions—the one that I could see in my mind's eye was tailored and olive green, and a matching hat was perched crookedly upon his head._

 _His full lips parted as he stared down at me, apparently drinking me in—and with a start, I realized that the same look was present both in the present time and in my memory. With obvious effort, he looked away. "You have me."_

 _Something hit me, another memory, this one more recent but still distant, buried. A parade, an explosion, searing pain—I glanced down at the burn scars that ruined my arm. "You tried to save me." Blue eyes, bright and wet, met mine again. "I was burned."_

 _"_ _I'm so sorry."_

 _A whisper from the shadows of the past gave me one word, one name to hold fast to for the next two decades I would spend alone. "James." A sense of belonging filled me as the word passed my lips. It tasted sweet, familiar—like coming home. Tears filled my eyes and fell down my cheeks, and I touched my fingertips to his cheeks, his lips. I didn't remember, not really, but there was enough—the knowledge that somewhere, there was something to remember—to set the spark and would ignite the inferno that would later send me on to find the man I loved. "James."_

I could hear him shouting. "Get out of here!"

Other voices joined the fray. "It wasn't him, Tony, Hydra had control of his mind!"

"Move!"

"It wasn't him!"

Someone grabbed me around the shoulders and dragged me backwards. Whomever it was was talking, yelling, but I couldn't make out anything that was said. My hands burned and stung—the skin had been torn from my palms when I fell. Someone—Steve?—shoved me towards the exit, and I looked around to see the three men fighting furiously, trying to tear each other apart. They moved too quickly for my addled mind to make out what was happening—the explosion must have affected me more than the others. But why?

Flashes of red, of blue, of gold, of black—a single moment provided enough clarity to break through the fog. James met my gaze, and in that moment, I remembered _everything_ , and he jerked his head towards the door.

 _Get out._

"No." I fell to one side, shaking my head, trying to drag my eyelids open. The walls were collapsing around me, crumbling in epic and fiery explosions that seared my skin and eyes. Of all the places this could have happened, all the places Tony could have found out, it had to be here—the place where it had all begun.

I remembered everything.

The last time I had been here, James had been carrying me out the door—and I knew that he had been dragged back, struggling or drugged, and been strapped into the chair and tortured nearly to insanity. I nearly vomited when I realized that I was lying at the foot of the chair that had been used to strip me of my identity, of my life, of my love. It seemed to vibrate with malice as though trying to suck me back into its mindless vacuum.

So many memories. Every single murder, every one that I or the Angel had committed came flooding back. Every conversation, every fight, every look that I and my husband and brother had shared came surging back with absolute clarity. Every moment of torture reappeared, as did every broken plea for death. I almost wanted to climb into the chair, rid myself of the pain the memories caused.

It was enough to drive me insane.

I groaned, rolling a bit to one side, and tried to breathe, tried to move. If I had a blackout here, it might cost my life and the lives of my husband and child. Dust and smoke stung my eyes. "No, not—not again, not here—"

 _Get. Up._ I hooked my elbows beneath my ribcage and pushed up, propping my knees underneath—I made it to my feet and looked around, using the chair for support. The leather was cracked with age, and the gears and wires were showing through the cover. The worst thought crossed my mind, that if I could get Tony into the chair, it would all stop—I shook my head, letting go, repelled by the horribly familiar feel of the seat.

Steve and Tony were grappling together, and my brother was doing his best to dismantle Tony's suit with his shield, leaving James time to escape. I pulled away from the chair, hating its influence, trying to walk on my own. The ground was soft now, folding and wobbling beneath my feet, but it grew firmer with every second. The clang of vibranium on iron echoed through the chamber, adding the the overwhelming dim that already drilled on my ears.

I was so distracted by the noise that I didn't notice that James was running at full speed towards me, at least not until his fingers wrapped around my arm. He was firm but at the same time gentle, even when he was panicked and fearing for his life. When he passed me, he grabbed me and hauled me along behind him, sprinting away, but making sure I could walk and was not being dragged. I followed with difficulty, forcing one foot in front of the other and trying to match his pace. After a few steps, I found my footing, and I began to sprint.

"We have to go," he grunted. "He's not going to stop." Panic shone in his bloodshot eyes. I had seen the same look in horses that were galloping away from dogs or other soldiers—frenzied, terrified, mindless. I knew I had the same look on my face as I followed my husband, concentrating on the feel of his hand on my wrist. "I'm not losing you again."

 _I stood completely still in the center of the living room, listening to Steve speak to the two men at the door. I was shaking so badly I could barely breathe—air kept catching in my throat, and my chest was tight. James's hands were on my shoulders._

 _"_ _Breathe," he whispered. "It's going to be alright."_

 _"_ _I can't—I can't—" My breaths came in short, quick bursts, and the ground seemed to slope beneath my feet. The apartment was spotless—the night before, I had gone to work cleaning and straightening everything I could get my hands on. James had stepped in beside me and taken away the vase I'd been holding and made me go to bed. He had finished cleaning the apartment while I lay in bed, unable to sleep, and it wasn't until I heard his snores come from the living room that I finally closed my eyes._

 _"_ _They're not taking you away, Katie." He squeezed my shoulder. I craned my neck to look up at him, and he gave me a small smile. I caught a slight flash of nervousness as he glanced at the door, then back at me. "I promise."_

 _The men's voices rose, growing sharper, and Steve's voice grew louder as well, more agitated. James's hands slipped off my shoulders, and he straightened his tie. "That's my cue."_

 _"_ _Excuse me, gentlemen." James, strong, tall, and handsome, stepped up to the plate. Steve didn't budge from his spot in the doorway, so James stood slightly behind him and extended a genial hand for the men to shake. "My name is James Barnes, I believe you know my father?"_

 _The first man who spoke was old; his voice was as wizened and frail as I imagined its owner to be. "Ah, Mr. Barnes—what are you doing here?"_

 _James changed the subject, not answering the old man's question. "This is Steve Rogers, I believe you knew his mother, Sarah?"_

 _"_ _Ah, yes, such a shame," the same old man replied. "Sarah was a wonderful woman. She saved my granddaughter from pneumonia once, you know," he finished amiably._

 _"_ _I didn't know that," my friend continued. He guilt tripped him, trying to manipulate the game onto his own ground for the home-field advantage. "Why are you here, Sir? Did you wish to pay respects to her children?"_

 _The man grew uncomfortable. "No, Sir—well, yes, but no, that's not why we're here—"_

 _His counterpart, this one younger and harsher, finally spoke, cutting the young man off. "We're here because we received instructions regarding this particular child—our other agents suggested that this is not a proper home for a child to be raised in."_

 _"_ _My friend is not a child, Sir," James interjected, voice sharp but respectful. I knew he cut an impressive figure in his suit—I just hoped that the others would be impressed as well._

 _"_ _Oh? How old is she? How old are the two of them?" the younger man continued._

 _"_ _I'm twenty," Steve interjected sharply, clearly annoyed with being overlooked. "My sister is almost fifteen."_

 _Fourteen. Fifteen next December. Not the whole truth, but not a complete lie._

 _"_ _Sir," James fought valiantly to regain control of the situation. "This is a fit home for_ anyone _, even if that someone_ were _a young child. Besides, Katherine isn't a child, she's nearly an adult—" James gave a small laugh, and I heard a twinge of discomfort in his tone as he continued speaking. "She'll likely be married in five years anyway!"_

 _"_ _You_ do _know that if you take her to an orphanage," Steve added, "that she won't be adopted out. She's too old—all you'd be doing would be wasting money for a couple years that you could be spending on some other kid." Or on yourself. "You'll be wasting time, money, and resources on someone who already is a part of a fit home."_

 _"_ _You keep talking about her being in a fit home," the younger man growled, "But she hasn't made an appearance yet."_

 _"_ _She's shy," James responded dryly. The men continued to go back and forth—it reminded me of a bidding war, two parties fighting over a hand of cards or a winning horse. After a long time, the voices stopped._

 _"_ _We'll be seeing you," the younger voice said. The door closed sharply._

 _I was frozen in place. I hadn't moved in an hour—I suspected I hadn't breathed in nearly as long. I heard Steve sigh and hit the floor with a thud as he sat down in relief—at least, I hoped he was sitting down and not collapsing. James appeared around the corner, took one look at me, and took three loping steps towards me, catching hold of my arms as terrified tears filled my eyes. I latched onto the sleeves of his jacket. "James—"_

 _"_ _It's okay." He pried my fingers off his coat and wrapped his arms around me, cradling my head against his shoulder. I moved my hands to his back and laced them together and held him tightly, trying not to break down and cry—I was doing a miserable job at it. "I've got you. I've got you, I've got you, I've got you."_

 _"_ _They're not coming back." I peered over James's shoulder at Steve, who was sitting on the couch, breathing heavily. "They're meeting with Bucky's dad, but it's just a formality. They're not taking you."_

 _James let me go, and I went and sat down on the couch beside my brother. The aging cushions gave easily beneath my weight, and I took Steve's shaking hands in mine. "They're not taking you," he repeated softly. "I'm so sorry, I almost let them—"_

 _"_ _I love you, Steve," I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder. James went and sat down at our feet, loosening his tie._

 _Steve's grip on my hand tightened. "I love you too, Kiddo."_

I knew exactly how to get in and out of this structure—I remembered everything, even in the darkness with the walls crumbling around me. Dust spilled down from the ceiling, clogging my lungs, becoming gum in my mouth. Debris, bits of mortar and stone, fell with a clatter to the cement floor, turning my hair white as though with age.

We entered a huge chamber, rather like an enormous missile silo, one whose walls were lined with what appeared to be rusting fire escapes. My breathing came easier now that I was out of the suffocating hallway. I could see the sky high above: the ceiling to the chamber, a disk of metal that looked disturbingly like a lid, was open. James continued on without stopping, racing up the first of the stairs and pulling me after him. The platforms weren't connected well, so we jumped from platform to platform, climbing up small ladders and pulling each other up onto the higher platforms as well.

James continued to climb up the walls, clamoring up the stairs and supporting me as he went, huffing loudly, trying to catch his breath and expel the dust from his lungs. The noise from Tony and Steve's fight grew louder, and I raced alongside my husband, not complaining, praying that my brother would be able to hold Tony long enough for us to get out of this God-forsaken building.

But what then? Would we take the quinjet and leave Steve behind? That wasn't an option—Tony would kill him. Deep in my heart, I think I knew the truth—that there was no way out of here. My heart climbed into my throat, and my chest tightened. We might die down here. I don't think I'd ever been more afraid than I was right then— because it wasn't an enemy that was trying to capture me, it was my friend trying to kill me, and my husband, and my child.

Clanging footsteps entered the room, and I looked down—Tony was standing on the ground floor, unable to fly, trying to aim a missile at my husband. James hadn't noticed yet, and I kept climbing.

The sky was feet away when the wall exploded, throwing me backwards. I hit one of the balconies and flipped back, just barely catching the side with my fingertips. I screamed, feeling nothing beneath my feet but empty air. I kicked, trying to pull myself up, but I couldn't do it. James was on a nearby shelf, trying to climb over and reach me.

"Katie!" James moved closer, inching towards me. "Hang on! Grab my hand!" I was hundreds of feet above the ground—a fall like this would kill me, and the baby. I gasped for breath, trying to hold on. _It's going to be okay. He won't let me fall. It will be okay._

With horrible clarity, I recalled the last time I heard these same words—when James had fallen from the train a lifetime ago. I had lost everything, then. Was this Tony's plan? For James to lose everything as well?

The weak metal creaked, bending beneath my weight, cutting into my hands. I slipped a little farther down, and a sob tore from my lips as I halted with a jerk. I kicked, trying to find purchase, but found nothing. The blood from my scraped hands made the bar slick, and my left hand slipped off. At that moment, Tony, who had regained flight power and wasn't paying any attention to me, grabbed my husband around the neck.

My breathing was constricted, cut off—my hands were on fire, splintered metal scissoring through flesh. Tears streamed down my face as I caught what Tony said to my husband.

"Do you even remember them?" he hissed. I swung my hand up and caught the bar again, crying out as pain tore up my arm. I tried to pull up and hook my arm over the platform, and I kicked my feet, trying to find purchase. I had to save him.

"KATIE!" Steve's scream rang through the room as I slipped, dropping, my arms fully extended over my head as my fingers slipped on the bar. My breathing grew strained as my neck tightened. Mine and James's positions had been switched: now I was the one hanging over the edge of the abyss—and once again, Steve was powerless to save either of us.

James grunted, choking. "I remember all of them."

He turned his head a little, trying to see me, to reach me, and his eyes met mine as the bar finally snapped. There was a single instant before I fell when I looked into his eyes, before I realized what was about to happen. I wasn't panicked yet, because I didn't know what was happening, it hadn't registered. I hadn't realized that I was about to die. My husband's anguished scream rang in my ears as I fell, unable to find purchase, hurdling towards the earth with no way to stop.


	16. Chapter 16

_Bucky stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him, his eyes shut tight. Steve was standing right beside him, staring blankly ahead. No one else was at the cemetery; everyone else had left. The sun was shining, and it was a beautiful winter day. It seemed almost an insult to her memory that the sky would be so blue, that the grass and remaining leaves would wear such vibrant colors, that the sun would gleam so brightly._

 _"_ _How did this happen?" Bucky asked hoarsely, staring down at the fresh grave. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she was gone. It didn't make sense—it was as though one had stepped into the sunlight and it had been a cold light, or one took a bite of food only for it to crumble into ash. Even though the two men should have been sweating in their suits, they felt cold. Steve hadn't said a single word—he didn't know what to say. Normally he would have relied on his sister to say something, to comfort him and his friend, but…_

 _"_ _It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could've done," Steve murmured, staring a little past the headstone at the grass behind it. His legs shook from standing for so long, but he couldn't bring himself to sit down, not when he was standing so close to where the girl was buried. It didn't seem right._

 _"_ _I could have done something," Bucky ran a hand through his cropped hair and took a shallow breath. "I could've—I could've…"_

 _"_ _Buck." Steve reached over and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "You can't do this to yourself. She wouldn't—" he cleared his tight throat, taking a deep breath. "She wouldn't want you to feel this way."_

 _"_ _I should've saved her," he said scratchily, sniffing and taking a sudden breath. "It's my job, I should've—I should've done something. I don't—" he screwed his face up tightly, trying to hold back a sob. He bowed his head, shoulders tensing, and balled his hands into fists. "I need to be with her alone," he forced out. "Please."_

 _"_ _Of course." Steve left reluctantly, hands tucked into his pockets, walking home. He trudged through the thick grass, trying not to get tripped up on it, and glanced back at Bucky when he reached the road. The man was on his knees in the dirt, a hand on the headstone, his head bowed. His broad shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs. Steve was heartbroken as well, both at the loss and at the sight of his friend's grief, but he had trained himself years ago not to cry. He could count on one hand the times he had broken the rule._

 _"_ _I'm so sorry," Bucky gasped, tugging absently at a handful of his hair, then dropping his hand, so that bits of his hair stood up in odd directions. "I'm so sorry, Sweetheart. I promised you I'd take—I promised—I—" The wail that came from his mouth didn't sound human. It erupted from deep within him, the embodiment of his grief spilled out._

 _Steve, walking alone, heard it, and his shoulders hunched when it landed on his ears. The sound filled him with guilt and regret, and he knew that if he didn't keep moving then he might fall apart as well._

 _He didn't end up going home; instead he walked around on the streets, kicking a can ahead of him. There was no one outside; it was only a little after noon, and everyone was inside with their families eating dinner. The main roads were far away; the little traffic there might have been wasn't even audible. Cold wind cut through his jacket, and he pulled the fabric tighter around his shivering frame, tucking his hands into his pockets. It was his sister's birthday, he recalled bleakly, staring straight ahead. Even with the knowledge, he couldn't bring himself to go home. Somewhere in the distance, someone was shouting. Within a span of a few minutes, multiple voices had joined in, and there was screaming and shouting and wails of horror he couldn't block out._

 _He ran up to the nearest home and banged on the door until someone answered it. A woman with a white face and wide, frightened eyes threw the door open. He knew her—she was a teacher at the school—his sister was a student of hers._

 _"_ _What's wrong?" Steve asked, turning his head and looking around wildly. Today was supposed to be a happy day for most people—it was Tuffy Leeman's day, and many of his fans were supposed to be celebrating in the stadium nearby. Those who weren't there were leaving church with their families._

 _"_ _Steven, t-the—" At a loss for words, she gestured behind her towards the house, welcoming him inside._

 _Steve entered hesitantly, looking around—a group of people were gathered in the parlor. Four young children were sitting on the floor around a radio, eyes as wide as saucers, and the woman's husband was standing behind a high-backed chair, gripping the frame so tightly that his knuckles had gone white._

 _"_ _Charlotte—" the man reached out to his wife, and the woman went into his arms, fighting back tears._

 _President Roosevelt was speaking. He was announcing an attack on Pearl Harbor—an attack that the nation immediately understood—although it was not outright stated—would mean war._

 _Steve staggered back and hit the wall, his mind spinning._ War _. Without saying a word to Mrs. Charlotte, he left the home and sprinted down the road, practically flying back to his own house as his coat flapped wildly around him. He had to find Katie—she was probably with Bucky, since her best friend was gone. Since he hadn't been there, she'd likely gone to him for comfort. Steve made a sharp turn, almost slipping on the loose gravel as he tore up a back alley, taking the shortcut to the back of the Barnes's home. The Barnes had always had some money, and they had an actual house compared to his apartment—even though Bucky had his own apartment, he'd been staying with his parents the last few days. Steve swore as he was forced to slow down, sucking in shallow, unfulfilling breaths as he tried desperately to fill his asthmatic lungs. He rounded the building and doubled over in the front yard, hands pressed to shaking knees. "Katie!" He sucked in a wheezing breath and shouted his sister's name. "Katherine!"_

 _The front door was flung open and struck the wall, bouncing back. A girl sprinted down the steps, tears streaming down her face and tangled hair flying behind her. Steve was nearly knocked over by the force of her embrace, and he held her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder._

 _"_ _Tell him n-not to go!" she stammered, looking straight into his eyes. Her own eyes were so clear and bright they were almost transparent. "He c-can't g-go!"_

 _Bucky was standing in the doorway, watching the two of them with an unreadable expression on his face. Somewhere behind him, inside of the house, a woman was weeping._

I was falling. The first few moments, I didn't understand—and then there was a span of several seconds when I was sure I was going to die, and then something slammed into me, and I wasn't falling anymore. Everything was blurred, and the noises were scrambled, as though I was hearing them underwater from a long ways away. My surroundings changed—no longer was an enormous disk blocking out the sky. Now dim, pale light was streaming into the small room I was in, and I was cold. Someone set me down on the ground, and brushed my hair from my forehead, placing a hand lightly over my stomach.

The voice was rich with an unfamiliar accent that I somehow recognized, but the owner only spoke two words to me before disappearing. "Stay here."

I was too out of it to be able to turn my head to watch them as they left. I stared up at the ceiling as the room swirled around me, wondering if I was dying, wondering why I wasn't more afraid. One of my hands rested atop my stomach, and I remembered why I had reason to be afraid, and why I had reason to fight. I had to fight for my child, and for my husband, and for my brother. For my family.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when a body flew past me, nearly landing on me, and rolling to a stop on the concrete a few yards away. Steve. Tony landed above me, mask still covering his face. Steve struggled to his feet, breathing heavily. James wasn't with him—I turned my head and caught a glimpse of him somewhere up above me—he'd gotten caught on one of the rusty shelves.

"This isn't gonna change what happened."

I tried to roll over, grunting, fighting for breath. The muscles in my chest had locked up—I could barely breathe. Dirt and sharp bits of stone wedged up under my nails as I clawed at the ground for purchase, trying to breathe, to pull myself up again.

"I don't care. He killed my mom."

Tony attacked with a scream of rage, aiming to kill. I looked up, and my heart dropped into my stomach. Steve's shield was gone; he was completely defenseless. I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, my stomach clenching, trying to stand, but the pain in my chest drove me back to the ground. Dark spots speckled the ground as sweat and tears dripped off my chin. Stark had Steve on the ground, beating him—more dark spots joined my own. Tears burned my eyes as I pushed against the wall, trying to stand. James flew past me with a yell, Steve's shield in his hands, and brought the metal disk down on Stark's back.

Tony flew to one side, coming up on his knees, and sent a blast of energy in my direction. James blocked it with the shield, and he and Steve joined forces, passing the shield to one another, fighting as one to protect me and bring Tony down. The two fought with unbridled fury, fighting for one another and for me and for my child. Fear burned its way up into my throat as Tony managed to send a blast of energy into Steve's chest. My brother hit the wall with a sickening crunch, his back and head taking the brunt of the blow. He collapsed to the ground, limbs bent at awkward angles.

James attacked Tony on his own, slamming into him before Steve had even hit the wall. He gave and took punches, driving him back away from me and towards the wall on the opposite side of the room. He forced Tony's arm up as the iron avenger sent a stream of pure energy across the room—it bit into the wall and ceiling and floor, tearing up the concrete. Tony's back hit the wall with a _clink_ , and James tore into Tony's suit with the ferocity of a bear, trying to claw the arc reactor out of his chest. One hand forced Tony's arm to one side while the other dug into the breastplate of his suit.

The muscles in my chest released, and the pain in my chest disappeared like a bubble bursting. Taking a sudden breath, I scrambled to my feet and slid over the frozen ground to Steve. My brother was on his knees, trying to use his shield as a crutch, unable to make it to his feet. I crouched down and lifted his arm over my shoulders, trying to help him up. My legs trembled, and I screwed my eyes shut as my muscles screamed from the strain of trying to lift someone several times my size. The days of the Angel had long since passed. James screamed in pain, and a sob tore from my throat as my grip on him tightened. "Get up, Steve, get up!"

An explosion tore through the air, knocking me back away from Steve and onto my back, and I heard James land heavily a few feet away. I looked up and around, dazed, and it took a moment for me to realize what had happened. I didn't understand at first, since everything was blurry and unfocused, but—but— _his arm had been blown off._ A broken gasp escaped my lips, and his name froze on my lips. He crouched on his knees, holding up his weight with one hand, staring blankly at where his arm had been.

I rolled over onto my front as Stark came up behind him and kicked him, hard, sending him flying backwards into the wall. I scrambled to my feet and limped over to him, blocking him from Tony, fully expecting a knife in my back any moment. "Oh, God," I whispered, leaning over him and resting my hands on his shoulder and side. "God, no. No, please—"

James was barely conscious—I could imagine the pain he felt, after having lost my wings _twice—_ but to lose his arm like this again, once torn off, once blown off—he could hardly think. His eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered. I grasped his right hand and held on tight, whispering softly to him, shielding his body with mine. He shuddered, and his fingers twitched against mine.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, tears burning in my eyes. "I'm not going to leave you."

Behind me, too close for comfort, I could hear my brother attack Tony, fighting like a wild man. The sound of metal pounding against flesh, and flesh against metal, was sickening. I hunched down, unable to do anything but try and shield my husband from Stark's ire—I knew that the only thing keeping him from killing me was the knowledge that I was pregnant. I focused my attention on my husband, paying too little attention to the fight.

All at once, James leaned past me, shoving me aside. Thrown off by the unexpected movement, I landed on my side a few feet away and looked up as James rolled over and latched onto Stark's ankle. His purpose was clear—to keep him from moving towards my brother, who was on the ground, struggling. Stark reared back, and his foot connected with my husband's head, and he fell back, unconscious.

I leapt up and grabbed onto Tony's arm, denting the metal and yanking him back. He whirled around, twisting free and grabbing my arms, and pinned me against the wall. "Stay down, Katie!" he screamed. I couldn't see his face through the mask, but his voice—oh, his voice was so full of anguish that it nearly broke my heart.

"Don't you dare—" my voice caught. "Don't you _dare_ hurt my family."

 _"_ _They took my family from me!"_ He was screaming, losing all composure.

 _"_ _NO!"_ I couldn't get free, but I could distract him—hopefully long enough for Steve to get up—oh please, Steve, get up—and get James out of here. "Tony, listen to me." I grabbed onto his arms, trying to keep his attention. "Hydra did this. Hydra took your family away, just like they took mine away—Tony, _look at me!_ " The eerie blue eyes of the Iron Man suit turned back to face me, casting a soft light on my bloodied face. "Tony, they took my husband from me, and then they took me brother from me." I swallowed. "They took my _humanity_ from me. They made me into a monster." I paused, swallowing back my horror when Steve fell back, unable to rise. I was alone. "Do you blame me for what I did?"

"No—" he nearly choked in his haste to get the word out. "You didn't—you couldn't control it. I saw you, once—you nearly killed yourself, you almost threw yourself off the tower, but—but it wasn't your fault—"

"You don't think I'm responsible for what I did?" I asked, swallowing hard. "For all the lives I took as the Angel? For all the horrible things I've done?"

"It wasn't you," Tony shook his head, and his mask flew up, revealing his battered and bloody face, the face that so closely resembled Howard's. "It's not your fault, what you did as the Angel. I—I found you in that chair," his voice broke. "After they cut your wings off. You didn't remember anything."

"Tony—did you see that chair in there?" I looked over my shoulder towards the cavernous room where the other Winter Soldiers had been lying, frozen, for decades. So much pain. Even though my heart ached for them, for the lives that had been stripped away by Hydra and it's false promises, I was glad for them, glad that they had finally been set free. Tony nodded slowly. "Do you know how many times I was strapped into that chair? How many times my life was stripped away, how many times I was sent on missions to kill people?"

"Stop it." He shook me, angry now. "It wasn't your fault."

"Then how can you blame him?" my voice broke, and my eyes filled with tears that I blinked back, but not away. "He was trapped for decades longer than I was. He—" I swallowed again and took a deep breath as my throat tightened painfully. "He helped me escape a week before your parents—" I couldn't find it within myself to pause for breath. "They wiped him completely, reset him, ruined him—and if he hadn't been caught helping me, he might have been able to fight them enough to save your parents. Their deaths are my fault, Tony."

I didn't know where these thoughts were coming from or why they were pouring out of me now. I didn't need them, but they were there—the lingering guilt, the ever-present doubt.

"No." Tony released me and took an unsteady step backwards.

"Tony—"  
"Stop." He held up a hand, cutting me off. "I—" he stopped, collecting his thoughts, and glanced up at me. "Mom and Dad…" his voice cracked, and for the first time since I had known him, Tony Stark cried. "They wouldn't have wanted this." He took a shuddering breath. "Dad liked you. Missed you. He'd talk about you sometimes—hoped you were okay, wherever you were—he never gave up on you, you know that; it's why he kept your rings. If he'd had the choice: his life or yours… I know what he would've chosen. He told me." A sob tore from his lips, and he fell to his knees, weeping.

Steve was watching me from the floor, unable to stand. Pride shone in his eyes, and he nodded. Every part of my body, heart, and soul screamed at me to go to James, but I knelt in front of Tony instead. "They loved you," I whispered, placing a hand against his weathered cheek. His tears washed the blood from his skin. "So much."

"Go. Take your husband—and your brother—and go." He shook his head. "I don't blame you—but I do blame _him_. Get him out of here before I change my mind."

I didn't argue with him. I helped Steve to his feet—his ribs were cracked or broken, but he still found the strength to stand. Together, we supported James. He stumbled along between us, barely conscious.

Steve stopped suddenly, looking down at his shield.

"Steve?" My knees buckled a bit at the sudden transference of weight—I couldn't support James on my own, not for long. I wrapped my arms around his chest, leaning my head into his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Howard made this shield," he murmured, looking down at it as though through a haze. He turned and strode back to Tony. I heard a gently _clink, clink_ as he laid the shield down, setting it gently before his broken comrade. "This belongs to you," he said softly. A few moments later, he joined me again. Without saying another word, we picked our way through the rubble back to the jet.

King T'Challa was waiting for us. He nodded to me, then looked at Steve. "Come with me," he ordered solemnly. "I know of a safe place for you and for your family."

Steve looked down at me, and I saw in his eyes the shell of the man I'd grown up with. Choosing between Tony and James, and then proceeding to fight nearly to the death with his friend—it had broken him. I could see it in his eyes. He nodded, turning his broken face towards the young king who, like all of us, had almost lost everything—but who, in the end, had managed to hold onto himself. "I think we could use a safe place right now."


	17. Chapter 17

I wandered around T'Challa's compound, watching the clouds roll over the jungle canopy through the thick glass walls.

"Katie." I backtracked until I stood before my brother's open door. He smiled from his desk and waved me inside. He stood to hug me as I entered, and I wrapped my around around him, hooking one arm under his arm and wrapping the other across his shoulders.

"I didn't know you were here."

"I just got back," he replied, releasing me. His handsome face was marred by several bruised and cuts, but I knew they would heal soon. I sat on the edge of his bed as he resumed his seat. His room was immaculate: the bed made in the traditional military style, its single pillow perfectly fluffed and settled against the crisp sheets.

"Are the others here?"

"They're being checked out now," Steve confirmed, his expression falling.

I leaned forward, recognizing the guilt written into every aspect of his bearing. "We knew what we were doing, Steve. It's not on you. We'll be okay."

He nodded, then changed the subject. "I don't know if I ever told you this—" Steve rose with a grimace, rubbing his ribs gingerly, and came over to sit down beside me. "I brought a property upstate."

I shook my head. "When?"

"Nineteen forty-four." He shrugged. "I made a lot money as Captain America, and I wanted to provide you for like I wasn't able to do before. I bought a house on a large property—I still own it. I've had it looked after and kept up, especially since I've been… well, awake." He looked down at me. "I'm giving it to you, if you'll take it."

"What?" I inhaled sharply. "Why?"

He gave me a soft smile full of light, and I knew I could not refuse him. "Because I want there to be a safe place for my sister and best friend to grow old and all my nieces and nephews I know you'll give me to grow up. I want your family to be safe."

"But—but what about your family?" I asked him softly. It was the one hurdle keeping me from accepting his gift—making, as I always had, sure that he was safe.

"You are my family, Katie." He shrugged wearily. "But a wife, kids… I think the man who wanted that died a long time ago."

I smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the smile was real. I think Steve knew it, too, because a matching smile spread across his face, and it was as though the sun had come out from behind the clouds and bathed the room in warm, golden light.

"What?"

"I'm picturing the life I could have," I told him, unable to stop the glow that seemed to rise up from my chest and into my cheeks. "For so long I didn't think a future was possible. But the war is over, Steve. I'm married, I'm having a baby…" I took Steve's hand. "We can leave," I whispered. "James and I can leave, go home, be free from all this—"

"Katie?" Steve interrupted, his smile fading. "T'Challa told me something about James."

The glow inside me disappeared like sunlight cut off by a storm. "What is it?"

A few minutes later I leaned against the doorframe of the room that had been gifted to me, my hands folded beneath my belly. I wished for a moment that my baby would kick, so I could know my baby was alright. For now, though, I had to be content with normalcy: so long as nothing was glaringly wrong, I had to assume everything was perfectly alright.

James was sitting on the edge of our bed, his hand in a fist in his lap. He glanced up at me, and his expression softened as he stood and engulfed me in a hug, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. He kissed my forehead and then sank back onto the bed, staring wearily at the opposite wall.

I knelt down in front of him and took his hand in mine, kissing it softly. My other hand rested on my stomach, cradling the little spark of life growing inside me.

"Katie." James pressed his forehead against mine. His voice was hoarse and strained. I tried to remember a time before all of this—the war, our time as Hydra, and the time since—when my husband had spoken with complete confidence and surety. Trying to compare the two men was painful. "Katie, I'm so sorry."

I said nothing and kept my eyes shut tight as tears burned at my eyelids. What could I say? That what happened was not his fault? He wouldn't believe me even if I did speak. And I knew that if I spoke, the words wouldn't stop, and so I stayed silent.

"I left you there," he burst out, standing up suddenly. I sat back, expecting his sudden movement. "I left you at the airport—they hurt you."

I shook my head. "James," I started to speak, but he spoke over me. I needed him to listen to me. I needed to tell him that I knew what he was planning.

"Your comms was still working." My mouth went dry, and his words chased all other thoughts from my mind. "We could hear you."

I pulled myself up to sit on the edge of the bed and folded my hands together in my lap. James remained standing, gesturing wildly with his remaining hand as he continued to speak, his voice rising.

"Do you know how that felt?" he finally asked, sitting down heavily beside me on the edge of the bed. "To hear you crying, praying for help—and not being able to do anything?"

I nodded, twisting my ring around my finger. Somehow, throughout everything, this little band of metal had stayed safe. "Yes."

I took his hand and stared up at the glass ceiling. Raindrops pattered against the glass, trickling in thin rivulets down the panes and dripping from there back into the jungle canopy. Leaves the size of beach umbrellas smacked wetly against the glass, smearing the water around.

"Sweetheart," I spoke softly, "I'm going to ask you to do something for me." I paused until I knew he was listening, then spoke again. "I'm not going to ask you to forget about what happened. What I am going to ask is that you let it go." He winced. "It's going to be impossible to move forward with our lives until we let go of the pain holding us back. Think about our child." I pulled his hand across the space between us and placed it over my distended stomach where somewhere inside our baby was growing.

James was silent for almost a minute. "I've been talking to T'Challa. Thinking about options moving forward." He licked his lips. "Thinking about going back under until they can figure out a way to straighten out what's in my head."

It was impossible to ignore the bolt of fear that passed through me, even though I had already heard about it from my brother, but I did not react the way I thought I would. I didn't cry or panic. Instead, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Look at me, James."

He did.

"I love you. More than anything. And I would do anything to make you whole again. And if this is what you need, I'll let you go through with it."

He stared at me, lips parted, and his shoulders lifted as though a burden had been removed from them. His next words were barely audible. "Thank you."

We sat together in silence, enjoying one another's company. The thought of the future I wanted, the future that for a few shining moments I thought that I could have, balanced itself on the edge of my thoughts. If I let it go, it would be gone forever. If I held onto it, I would be tortured by its intangibility.

"What do you miss the most about you life before the war?" I asked after a few minutes, turning my face to look at him. His expression turned pensive, and I waited patiently for him to answer. We had never talked about this before, I realized.

"There are a lotta things I miss," he replied after a while. "I miss the simplicity of it all, y'know? It's like… back then, I was so _sure_ of everything. We were gonna win the war, and then I was gonna go home and get married, and…" He turned, shifting his weight against the comforter. "And live somewhere away from the city, and raise a family. But… but I miss my family. My sister. I miss my old apartment, and my neighborhood. The candy store a couple blocks over—" He paused, and his eyebrows scrunched together, nearly meeting. "—even though I found a dead spider in my peppermint one time."

I laughed, and he laughed along with me, and the two of us laughed together even though what he had said was not funny at all. Our laughter was the desperate kind of two people who know their time together was limited and wanted to make what they knew would be a bitter-sweet memory as sweet as they could. Our laughter finally drifted into chuckles and finally died.

There was one question that I had wondered for a long time, and I could not stop myself from asking it. "Do you miss me?"

"I have you," James replied, holding both of my hands in his one.

"The woman that you fell in love with. Do you miss her?"

"Katie." James brushed a curl back behind my ear. His fingertips lingered on the edge of my jaw and traced their way down to my lips. "You are not the same person that I fell in love with—and I'm not the man that you fell in love with, either. I know that. I see it in your eyes when you pity me. But I love you more than I did then, and you love me more than you did then too, and I'll keep loving you more and more until the day I die." He reached down and gripped my hand tightly. "What do you want?" He whispered.

"You," I murmured back, honest. I reached up and traced the lines of his face, my short fingernails catching on his stubble. "I want you. I want our family to be safe."

He looked down at the ground. "I want our family to be safe too," he said softly. "And I want what's best for our family. For you. And right now—right now, I'm not what's best for our family." He swallowed. "I'm not safe. All it took was a handful of words for that man to get inside my head—"

"I have the same code inside my mind, James," I interrupted softly, shaking my head. I forced a small smile only my face, but it did nothing but tweak the corner of my mouth. "Don't you remember how you found me?"

"I remember. I remember having to fight you and win, but you can't fight me, Katie, and I never want to hurt you again. T'Challa has built a containment unit which will hold me in cryo-freeze until someone can clear up my mind."

"I already know," I told him. "T'Challa told me his idea. And even though I don't want to lose you, I want what's best for you—and if you think that going under is what's best for you, then I'm not going to stand in your way."

James looked at me in a way that made my chest tighten. The love in his eyes warmed me all the way down to my toes, and I felt his earnestness in the grip he had on my hands. "I love you, Katie."

"I love you, too." I looked down at my hands, anxiety welling up within me. "I have to say this one thing," I said, closing my eyes. "Because if I didn't, and things happen the way you're planning, you'll never forgive yourself."

"Okay."

"Steve just told me about a property he bought during the war. He bought it for me—and he gave it to me. To us. For our family. And even if you decide that you still want to do this, that it's what's best—" I swallowed and looked down at James's hand against my swollen stomach. "Then know that you have a home and a family waiting for you on the other side."

And then, as though in answer to my words, my baby kicked. I gasped, jumping, and James jumped as well, almost falling off the bed as he lost his balance.

"What was that?"

"The baby—the baby kicked, James, look—" I pressed his hand against my stomach as the baby kicked again. I laughed, then started crying.

James moved to kneel behind me, wrapping his one arm around my middle and resting his chin against my neck. He rocked me back and forth. "I love you, Katie."

James fell asleep soon, tortured as I was by thoughts of choices and imaginings of what could have been or what could still be. I covered him with a soft blanket and left to find the others. The baby kicked, and I pressed my fingers against my stomach in response.

"Mrs. Barnes."

"T'Challa." I nodded my head in respect as the young monarch moved to walk alongside me. "Thank you again for your hospitality."

"After everything that happened, I consider it the least I could do," he answered, his accent thick. He paused for a moment in front of a large glass pane, and I stood beside him, looking out at the landscape. The rain had given way to thick mist that boiled over and through the trees, driven by more than just the wind. "But you are very welcome."

"Are you married, T'Challa?"

The handsome king smiled softly and shook his head. "I am not." He looked over at me, a knowing glint in his eye. "Are you looking for advice?"

I offered him a small smile. "Maybe."

"I am afraid that there is very little I can do, Mrs. Barnes. I do not know you all that well, after all. However," T'Challa ceased to speak and abruptly resumed his brisk pace, and I followed after him, waiting for him to finish speaking.

"However," he repeated, pausing in front of a large wooden door, "There are some who know you better than I who would be better suited to speak with you." He stepped forward, throwing the sleek doors wide open, and led me into a large chamber that resembled the sitting room at the Avengers' Compound. Several familiar individuals were standing or sitting in the room, and the large space made them seem especially small.

"Clint?"

My old friend looked up at me, eyes widening. "Katie!" He stood and almost fell when I reached him and wrapped my arms around him, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"You're safe!" I pulled back and studied him, checking for visible injuries. Besides a bruise on the side of his face and a slightly shrunken frame, he seemed alright. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a little thinner," he joked, patting my shoulder. He looked down at me and grinned. "You aren't, though; I take it the pregnancy is going well?"

"Everything's fine," I smiled softly. I looked past him at Sam, who was asleep on a couch, and Scott, who was sitting at a coffee table speaking into cell phone with a small, relieved smile on his face. "Where's Wanda?" I looked back and Clint, whose expression tightened in fury. I swallowed fearfully. "Clint?"

"Pietro's with her," Clint said softly, running a hand over his short hair. "Steve got ahold of him once we were out of the compound."

"How is she?"

"I don't know. It's bad, Katie." Clint grabbed my arm and pulled me back when I tried to turn away. "Wait."

"Let me see her," I said softly.

Clint let me go and looked to T'Challa, who nodded. "Follow me, both of you."

He led us through the identical glass hallways until we reached a closed doorway. "Speak softly," T'Challa advised. "Your friend is in a delicate state." He opened the door and left us there without another word. I entered first.

The room was decorated much like Wanda's room at the compound. I had told T'Challa a bit of what I had heard while I had spent time in the prison and had advised that we make her stay as familiar as possible; putting her in a bare room would be traumatizing. I knew that from experience. Somehow the king had acquired her belongings from the Avengers' tower and gave me the job of setting up her room, should she ever use it. It had been finished only a few days before.

Pietro was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hand. She was curled up away from him facing the room, her back against his knee, her eyes wide open. Sores stained the pale skin on her neck.

"Wanda?"

Her dark eyes met mine. Dark bags beneath them highlighted the lack of sleep she had received.

"Katie. We're glad you're here," Pietro spoke softly. "Clint." His voice held such relief it was almost tangible.

"Hey, bud." Clint sank down on the other side of the bed from Wanda, and I sat at the foot of it, one hand beneath my baby bump to settle comfortably and not squish the tiny human inside me.

"Wanda?" I spoke softly, and her eyes moved from mine to my belly, then back. "Can I show you something?" She didn't move, but I moved closer anyway, pulling my shirt up to uncover my stomach. Pietro glanced away, but Clint was not bothered at all, being a father of three. I reached out slowly. "Can I see your hand?" Again she said nothing but let me take her hand and place her fingertips very carefully against my stomach. The baby kicked, and Wanda's fingertips twitched. "The baby's moving," I said softly. I looked up into her eyes, and she seemed a little less wild than she had before. "Thank you for protecting us," I whispered, placing my hand over hers.

Wanda looked at me, eyes glistening with tears, and then her eyes closed. Soon after, she was asleep.

"She hasn't slept in a week," Clint informed me, pulling a blanket up to cover her as I rose to leave. "Thank you, Katie."

I nodded and rested my hands atop my stomach. As I left to find my husband, I found myself praying that my child wouldn't be like me—that my baby would not grow up without a father.


End file.
